


The Bastard Truth - Part Two

by nairmakgren



Series: The Bastard Truth [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anger, Cousin Incest, Dragon Riders, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Homecoming, Loss, R plus L equals J, Reunion Sex, Tension, Theft, Undead, White Walkers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8523904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nairmakgren/pseuds/nairmakgren
Summary: Jon and Sansa spend some quality time together. Smut ensues. Oh, and a bunch more chapters with story and shit happen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this whole chapter is nothing but smut. Rest assured that more is coming! I will add tags as I put the chapters up however. Too tired to go through and tag every character that will appear. <3

The first few hours of Jon's return to Winterfell passed him in a haze. Tired, hungry and nearly insane with exhaustion proved to be a detriment to his memory. He did remember Sansa ordering a feast for the King's safe return – then drinking and eating and laughing and talking with all of the various lords, servants and others – including Tormund and his Free Folk.

As he collapsed into the bed Jon recalled being reunited with Arya and Bran, who Sansa told him had come home just days after his own departure. Bran understood Jon's exhaustion and told him that they would speak when he was better rested. The alluring scent of warm linen drew Jon back, somewhat to the waking world.

As he rolled onto his stomach his brain caught a scent he did not recognize – a sweet odor that excited him. As he smelled into the sheets even more Jon caught Sansa who had helped him up to bed, grinning towards him. “I made some...changes...to your sheets while you were away.” she whispered, licking her lips ever so faintly.

Jon grinned at her. “What have you been up to?” _By the Gods did he miss her._ Even though he was still tired and his body begged for sleep his ache to be with Sansa was over-riding all of his other sensations and feelings.

She giggled and slid a hand to the hem of her dress, sliding it up ever so slightly to expose more of her long and toned legs. Jon bit down on his tongue as she did so, his mind racing with lust. He felt his breeches growing tight around his cock as he grew hard.

“Well, I missed you enough that every night while you were away I would come into your chambers, late at night and...think of you, on your bed.” she ran her hand up and down her left leg, her face still locked in a mischievous smirk. “I also made sure to leave some...evidence of my long and ponderous thoughts behind.”

Jon slowly realized what she had meant and laughed, rolling onto his back. “You are a naughty girl.”

Rising from the chair slowly Sansa seated herself on the edge of the bed. Reaching down with a slender hand she grasped his tunic gently and tried to pull him upwards.

He allowed himself to sit up and pressed his lips firmly into her own, their tongues crashing together in a crescendo of passion. The built up tension Jon felt melted away as he finally drank in Sansa's body, her sounds and her scent.

“I missed you..” she moaned into his ear as his lips explored her neck and shoulder-blades. “So much...”

Jon nodded as he slipped a hand under her dress and slid up her body, brushing her thighs – already slick with wetness – and her sex ever so gently. He let out a low moan of his own as he realized she'd neglected to wear any smallclothes.

As he worked his fingers against her nub Sansa found it in herself to begin undoing the laces of his breeches all the while whimpering and shaking with pleasure. “Sansa...” Jon whined, the ache in his loins growing even worse. “I need you...”

She began to nip at his neck as she pulled his cock free, her hands stroking it as she gently urged him down onto the bed. Pulling his hand from her sex he placed it into his mouth and licked it, causing her to giggle. “Tastes like lemoncakes,” he teased.

Sansa eased herself up onto him, straddling his waist as she worked her way out of the dress, exposing her nude body to him. Jon began to sweat as he saw the wonder that was Sansa Stark – naked in all of her divine glory. “Gods I've missed this...” he whispered as she lined herself up with his cock, her hands grabbing his and placing them on her hips.

She plunged down onto his cock in a flash with Jon having to bite his tongue bloody to avoid shouting with pleasure and surprise. Sansa began to ride him, her pace quickening as her hair jostled this way and that in the throes of their passion.

“Jon...oh, Jon...” she panted, a sheen of sweat breaking out over her face. Her cunt was so wet and tight and Jon felt as if he was going to black out from the sensations of bliss overwhelming his brain. His eyes focused on Sansa as she rode up and down on him, her own moans and cries of pleasure only amplifying his own sensations in turn. His hands remained glued to her hips as he could do little more then watch.

He watched as she bit down on her lower lip and her body began to shake as an orgasm overcame her. Jon felt her cunt tighten around his cock as she released, the feeling sending shivers down both of their spines. “Sansa....I love you...” Jon whispered, his eyes rolling back into his head ever so briefly.

“I love you, Jon...don't...don't dare l-leave me...” she whispered back, letting out a whine as he felt her orgasm again, her body once more shaking violently atop his own.

The two did not need to speak any more then that to know how they felt. There was a connection, a sensation that went above and beyond that of their bodies clashing together. Jon knew in his heart that Sansa loved him.

Jon felt his own aching cock begin to release as he let out a low groan, drool splattering from his mouth onto the sheets as his first orgasm in several weeks took him like a hammer. He leaned up and grabbed Sansa's back as he spilled inside of her, the sensation of pleasure causing him to begin trembling in her arms.

They sat there, wrapped around each other as they both panted hard, coming down from the sheer pleasure of their first time together in months. “Sansa...” Jon mumbled, his voice hoarse but firm. “I'll never...never leave you.”

Sansa smiled, secure in the fact he had already kept his promise.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and her council react to Jon's theft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RAWR! No smut here though.

Her brother Viserys had always made sure she knew not to “wake the dragon”. When she was a girl Daenerys had no idea what he had meant by this statement – but as they grew up she realized that he was trying to make a point. _Do not anger a Targaryen, for their rage is fierce._ Of course Viserys had no real strength to back up his angry tirades and he had proven his lacking far beyond a reasonable doubt when he had fatally attempted to threaten Daenerys in front of her late husband Khal Drogo.

Now however, as she strolled through the halls of Dragonstone flanked by her Unsullied, she was dealing with a far greater and more immediate threat. Her rage burned deep, threatening to consume every inch of her body. Her mind was unable to truly come to terms with the events of the previous night – of what had happened, what had truly happened.

Of how Jon Snow, the bastard King – _this man, this no-body, this usurper_ – had managed through some sheer force of will to ride off with Rhaegal. _One of her children – HERS! How dare he take something that belonged to her! How dare this barbarian place her child's life in danger!_

As she came to the doors leading to the Chamber of the Painted Table Daenerys threw them open, her hands trembling from the sheer anger bubbling inside. Inside the hall were Tyrion Lannister, Varys, a half-dozen other Unsullied, Davos Seaworth and his four northern guards. She'd ordered the remaining northern delegation seized immediately after Snow's flight, and she was certain to find out how long they had planned this.

And how they managed to pull it off.

Daenerys marched her way up to Davos, stepping almost onto his toes at how close she grew. “How dare you,” she spat. “How dare you come into MY home, my keep, my lands. How dare you come here with all the laws of hospitality and steal one of MY children from me!” she raged at him, spittle flying from her mouth as she felt an overwhelming urge to hit something – so she slapped him across the face.

“How did you do it?!” she demanded, turning to one of her guards. “Stick him like a pig unless he answers me!” The guard raised his spear to Davos's stomach as he backed up slightly not phased by the slap.

“Your Grace,” he pleaded, his eyes darting nervously about the room. “I assure you that none of us had any clue that King Jon was going to do what he did. I don't...I don't even know how he was able to do it.” The man raised his hands toward the guard. “Needless to say, we did not plan anything. We came here to negotiate in good faith -”

“Good faith?!” she retorted, slamming her fists down on the Painted Table. “HE STOLE ONE OF MY CHILDREN! How is that in good faith?!”

Varys stepped forward, glancing from Davos to Daenerys and back. “My Queen,” the eunuch began cautiously, his face creased in a frown. “Do you honestly believe that if Ser Davos and his delegation had come here meaning to thieve from House Targaryen that they would send one ship and barely a dozen men? Something is not right here.”

“Of course something is not right here! This barbarian has stolen Rhaegal!” Spinning around to face the Onion Knight she again rounded on him, grabbing him by the collar. “You wanted dragons, Davos Seaworth? Well you are going to get dragons! I will go North and cover your pathetic kingdom in fire and blood! I will root out all of your keeps and flay your lords from head to toe! If you thought these flayed men of House Bolton were monsters, you will be begging for their return when you have seen my wrath!”

“My Lady, please!” Varys chided, walking up to her and gently trying to ease her hand down. “You must understand what you are saying. If you do this – attack the North – you will destroy any real chance at reclaiming the Seven Kingdoms in the name of your family again.”

“It will show the lords that you do not defy House Targaryen!” she turned to face him.

“It may do just that,” Varys conceded, “however it also may remind the lords of Westeros as to why they deposed the last Targaryen monarch. Need I remind you of the Targaryen madness?”

The madness. Daenerys knew the tale well – it was said that due to the generations of inbreeding between brother and sister that her family was prone to producing only two types of children – great scholars, leaders and warriors or madmen.

 _When a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin._ “I cannot let this go unpunished!” she retorted.

“My Lady, if I may?” Tyrion waddled forward, closing the gap between the Unsullied, Varys and Davos. “Perhaps dismissing some of your guards would allow for a more tame conversation? The sheer amount of people in this room is a negative towards any form of discussion.”

Daenerys nodded. There were almost twenty people crammed into the Chamber – mostly Unsullied guards she had brought with her to arrest the northmen. Turning her head to the dozen or so behind her she nodded to the door.

As they filed out the room seemed to grow bigger – more room to breathe, she mused.

“Now then,” Tyrion looked up towards Davos, “I do believe you when you say that this was not planned. However, what is done is done. Jon Snow has stolen one of the Queen's dragons. Why, we do not know.”

“I believe that I do know,” Davos began, nodding towards a chair. As he moved to sit down he sighed deeply. “When we received the news from Winterfell about the Wall, the King took it very hard. I believe he made off with a dragon in an attempt to hold back the Others – since we were told that you would not be able to help us.”

Daenerys felt her rage begin to subside, the feelings ebbing from her body as though she were being immersed in cool water. Breathing raggedly she sat down in her own seat and looked to the man. “Not because...not because we did not want to help. But because I must prioritize the safety of my people first, Ser. You must understand that.”

“I do, Your Grace.” Davos nodded to her, “All too well. And that is why King Jon did what he did, I think. He was so determined to help the North that his mind was willing to take any chance necessary to do so.”

Her mind began to clear of the fog of madness that she'd felt consuming her. Somehow he had stolen one of her children although it was clear from speaking with his delegates that they had no idea how or when he did it. A small part of her thought back to Meereen to when she'd agreed to marry the slaver Hizdahr. _Anything necessary for your people,_ it reminded her. She was willing to put aside her personal and fantastic hatred of slavery to appease the Great Masters for a chance at peace because to her, it would stop the violence that had engulfed the city at the time. _I was willing to trade my values for peace._

It was clear Jon Snow was willing to trade his values for war. _Anything to save your people._ She waved off the guards holding the northern soldiers. “No need for guards. I am convinced Ser Davos and his men are not responsible here.”

That brought a smile to the man's bearded face. “Thank you, Your Grace.” he gestured towards his guards who began to file out of the room. “Now, it is my duty as Hand of the King to urge you not to attack the North in response.”

“Then what should I do, ser?” she sighed, running a hand along the top of the table.

“I can answer that,” Tyrion again offered, hopping up onto his seat at Daenerys's side. “In a way, Jon Snow did this to provoke a response from you. He knows that you would not be able to wait long enough to march your army from here to Winterfell – it would take far too much time and leave your gains vulnerable. So, he wants you to go North with Drogon to fight with him.”

“And why should I do that given what he has done to me?”

Her own Hand sighed, threading his fingers together. “Because I trust Jon Snow, my Queen. He was one of a few persons I had met who had embraced who he was. No matter what life had thrown his way he was willing to take it, if it meant serving the realm. That shows that he is an honest and upfront person, as I told you before. He would not have done something so risky, so dangerous if he did not feel that it was the only solution he had to save his people from harm – to truly serve the realm.”

“You trust him very much,” she noted, clearly astonished by his answer.

“Yes. I suppose I do. Given what I have endured in my own life we dwarves must look out for bastards like him.” he chuckled. “My point is simple. Fate has given us a different course then to attack King's Landing. However we can easily hold Dragonstone and the Stormlands from my sister and Euron Greyjoy.”

“We may not have much time, Your Grace.” Davos added. “The fact that the Night King has not simply blown his way through the Wall with his army is troubling to me. I believe if you mean to go...to go North on your dragon you should leave at once.”

Daenerys looked to each man gathered in the room. Her body felt back to normal – the madness was gone for the moment. “What...what I still don't understand is how he was able to even ride Rhaegal. As far as I know only those with Targaryen blood can do such a thing.”

Varys, who had taken his seat at the table inclined his head. “Only those with a large amount of Targaryen blood can. Robert Baratheon had Targaryen blood – his grandmother was Rhaelle Targaryen, the youngest child of Aegon the Unlikely. Yet he could never have tried to ride a dragon.”

Daenerys furrowed her brow. “So either this is somehow proving the theories about dragons wrong or Jon Snow is...what? A secret Targaryen?” she laughed. _I am the last dragon._

“I cannot answer that, Your Grace. Even those things are beyond my whispers.”

Rising from her chair she nodded. “I know what I must do, then. Tyrion, Dragonstone is yours until I return. I trust you know how to manage it?” she grinned.

“One last thing my Queen. What of Ser Davos and his delegation?” questioned Varys, looking to the man.

"Ser Davos, I realize now you were not involved in what took place last night. Please...accept my apologies for my harsh words. You and your men are free to depart from Dragonstone as you so wish with no ill will from me or my forces.” She felt somewhat guilty for her attack upon the man – once she had been able to calm her rage she'd realized he was as blameless as Rhaegal was.

“One thing, My Lady.” Davos bowed to her. “My wife will be accompanying me back to the North. I have shuttered my castle Cape Wrath as a result. I hereby grant it to House Targaryen – both as a good will gesture and an apology.” he shrugged sheepishly.

“Ah, Cape Wrath – it is a small hold-fast but it could prove a worthy coastal defence outpost.” tittered Varys.

Daenerys smiled at him. “Thank you very much, Ser. But why leave the Stormlands for good?”

Davos's smile faded slightly. “My time in the Stormlands ended with the deaths of my son and Stannis Baratheon both. I serve the King in the North now – and the North is my new home.”

“I understand. I wish you nothing but good fortune on your return home, Ser Davos. Now, if you will excuse me. I must make ready for my journey.”

As Daenerys exited the chamber she thought of Jon Snow with Rhaegal – and a small part of her mind could not help but feel not anger, but admiration for the boy and what he had managed to accomplish.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets with his council and reveals the truth. Bran needs to talk to Jon urgently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving right along with the story. <3

Jon entered the Great Hall well-rested, a smile on his face. Inside his advisers stood and applauded him as he entered – he saw each of their faces were adorned with a hopefulness that he'd imagined was probably missing before he had returned.

As he took his seat at the head of the table with Sansa at his side – he'd insisted on having a Queen's Chair made for her as well – he placed his hands upon the wood and exhaled softly. He knew that he would have to reveal what he'd done sooner or later to his council before Daenerys showed up with her own dragon threatening to rain fire and blood down upon their heads.

“My Lords,” Jon began, feeling a pit of nerves begin to bubble up inside of his stomach. Beside him Sansa squeezed his leg gently under the table for support and reassurance, the warmth of her hand helping to calm him somewhat, if only slightly. “We have a dragon. A dragon that I intend to fly to the Wall as soon as the Northern host is assembled. But – I have to confess something to you all.” he sighed as his advisers looked at him with mixtures of confusion upon their faces.

He told them everything – from their arrival at Dragonstone to the constant back and forth meetings he had with Daenerys to their ultimate refusal to send aid due to their preparations for an assault on King's Landing. He talked about how Daenerys wanted to march north with him after the capital was taken so as to convince the lords to bend the knee – and how he would not allow her to do so. He told them about how he'd met with and seemingly bonded with Rhaegal – who he heard roaring overhead in the morning sky – and so when they had sent their message about the arrival of the Others, he had decided to act.

“Make no mistake, my lords. Daenerys will be coming but she will be coming alone. It is part of the reason why I spirited away with Rhaegal – because I knew she would not wait for her army to march from Dragonstone to the North in her attempt to stop me. But once she arrives she will have no choice but to help us against the Others.” Jon exhaled hard, bracing himself for the onslaught of fear and terror that awaited him.

Yet the only sound that emerged from the table was laughter as Tormund guffawed loudly, pounding his fist on the wood as though he'd just been told the funniest thing in the world. “Oh, Jon Snow! You're fucking serious? You went to the southern lady and STOLE one of her dragons?! Har!” he wheezed, his face growing red, “You legend! You absolute fucking legend!”

Jon shook his head, somewhat bemused by the man's reaction. “Tormund -” he began, but the man cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Oh I know what you're going to say, hoo hoo...” the man finished his chortling, “that you've fucked things up for the north and the kneeler lady wants us to kneel and all this shit. But you've just told this woman – who you said yourself thought she was hot shit that she isn't. You've challenged her on her own turf. Humiliated her! She's gonna have to respect that.”

Jon's eyes glanced sidelong to Sansa. She sat watching him with a mixture of awe and concern, her mouth ever slightly agape. “I had to make a choice, for the good of our people. The Targaryens weren't willing to help us until much, much later in the war. And I couldn't wait that long.”

Sansa spoke next as she glanced towards the assembled. “It does not matter how the King managed to persuade a dragon to fight for us, my lords. What matters is that we have one – and we are able to use it against the Others. As for the Dragon Queen, well – we will deal with her when she arrives.” she gestured to herself and Jon.

“By the gods,” young Lord Mazin added, his hands gripping the table tightly, “I knew that you were Eddard Stark reborn, Your Grace – but this? This tops anything that your father ever managed to do tenfold.”

“Hear hear!” replied Lord Hornwood, the elder man nodding impressively.

“I'm sure that the little she bear would tell ya the same thing if she was around.” Tormund added. Lyanna Mormont had gone back home to Bear Island to help prepare her people for winter – Jon had given her all of the supplies that she needed – but she'd kept in touch via raven.

Jon flushed deeply, a shiver running up his spine. _I wonder what you would think now Father,_ he thought curiously. It always embarrassed him to be called Eddard Stark reborn – he was not worthy to be compared to the great man who was the Warden of the North. Jon also felt it dishonored the memory of Robb and Rickon and even Lady Catelyn, who Jon knew that if she were alive today would not be happy with the outcome of events.

“I am my own man,” Jon quipped, his hand gently gliding to Sansa's own leg under the table. He needed to feel her, to breathe in her scent – to know she was by his side. Her response was to squeeze his leg ever so tighter. “I simply couldn't allow the threat of the Others to be set aside for politics.”

“We should talk about the Vale, also.” Sansa added, smiling towards him. “Lord Baelish has seen to it that the Knights have been dispatched to the Wall under the command of Lord Royce. They've been sending us ravens since their arrival – and as of last night the Wall is quiet. The Others and their army just...stand there, watching.”

Jon nodded, the distaste present on his face – both from the actions of the Others and from hearing the name Baelish. “Tormund. You and I were at Hardhome. Do you ever know the Others to wait?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Never heard of anything like that,” he replied, shrugging. “Don't matter anyway. We'll go roast the fuckers all the same.”

Still Jon's mind burned with questions. The Others and their army were a consuming force, rushing towards and devouring everything and anything they could get their hands on. This type of behavior was not normal for creatures of their disposition. _What was going on with them? “_ This...I don't like this. It's almost as if they are waiting for something to happen.”

“What could they possibly be waiting for?” Lord Mazin added, his face furrowed in confusion.

“I don't know, Lord Mazin. But whatever it is – we can't just wait around to find out. The Night King is a consuming entity. And with an army of hundreds of thousands at its back – and more depending on how many they kill - it should be able to overrun the Wall with no major issues.” Jon tapped his fingers idly together.

“Speaking of cunts, where is Lord Barlish?” Tormund barked, having removed a boot and begun picking at his toenails. The room filled with laughter at his abrupt questioning.

“That's a good question,” Jon chuckled. “Maybe he knew you were coming Tormund and decided to avoid this particular session.”

Jon's heart caught in his throat as he watched Sansa laughing, her smile and the melodic giggle she made enough to set him on fire inside. Biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood wiped the intense heat from his mind for the moment.

“Ah, fuck 'em.” Tormund shrugged. “Don't worry, Jon. Your big and mean Free Folk guards are gonna stay with Sansa until Barlish is out the door for good.”

“Alright, alright.” Jon raised a hand over the laughter and murmuring. “We've all got our tasks. How long until the first banners arrive?”

“House Cerwyn's force is already here, as are the Tallhearts.” Sansa nodded, eyes fixed directly ahead. Jon vaguely remembered seeing the battleaxe of Cerwyn and the pine trees of Tallheart banners scattered around the winter town. “I expect the others – the Ryswells, Dustins, Glovers and the like will be not far behind. We called the banners just after the raven arrived, rest assured.” she smiled towards him.

“Good, good.” Jon rose to his feet. “If you don't mind, the Lady Sansa and I need to speak in private a moment.” When the room had cleared Jon turned to Sansa and kissed her lightly on the lips, savoring the taste of her lips. She brushed a hand along his cheek and smiled – although her smile seemed sad.

“Are you alright Sansa?” Jon asked, a look of concern growing on his face.

“I saw what happened to Father, Jon.” she replied softly.

* * *

 

“What do you mean? How could you see it?”

It was then that she told Jon about the visions that Bran could have and how he could display past events in said visions through the weirwood trees. She told him how it was Baelish who all along had betrayed their father in the first place – and the horrible sense of guilt and shame she had developed after being shown this vision.

Jon's body shook with fury as she concluded, his eyes narrowing. “That bastard. That no good, rotten scheming lying bastard!” he howled, smashing his fist on the table.

“Jon, please!” Sansa pleaded, grasping his hand firmly. “We need to go about this the right way. He has no idea that Bran has this...greensight, he calls it. We can use this to our advantage because it's not something Baelish can control. We have all the cards, don't you see?”

Jon nodded, the logic behind her reasoning sound. _I just stole a dragon from a woman with ten times the men as me - so this isn't the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard or done._ “What should we do, then? I mean about him.”

“Don't worry, Jon.” came a voice from his right. Quickly turning to the source he found Arya and Bran looking towards him. Arya's face wore a mischievous smirk and Bran's smile was almost sad – like Sansa's was. “He thinks that he's the master of this castle through his lies and rumours but we know how to play against him.”

“Arya's right Jon.” Sansa grinned, continuing to pat his hand. “Baelish's been trying to turn the North against me while you were gone. Setting up these rumours – that I wanted power or you dead and wanted to rule the North.”

“Who'd believe any of that shit?” Jon questioned, chortling in disbelief. Arya grimaced as she hung her head in shame.

“I kind of did, Jon. But only because I thought Sansa was still the prissy bitch she used to be!”

“ARYA!” Sansa shouted – although Jon could see the faint smile showing on her face.

“Bran? Westeros to Bran, I think we lost him!” Arya shook Bran's cart slightly and he yelped, shaking his head in a confused manner. “You alright?”

Bran looked to Jon and nodded. “I need to...to talk to Jon. In private. It's important.”

“We're all family here, Bran.” Sansa raised a brow. “What is it?”

“I can't say. Not until I've told Jon first.” he shuffled uncomfortably in the cart, his breathing growing ragged. “Please. Jon. Can you trust me on this?”

Jon nodded, smiling towards his brother. “Of course I can Bran. Can you girls give us a moment, please?” As Sansa got up from her seat she gave his groin a gentle squeeze – ever so discreetly as she sauntered away. Jon had to laugh at her boldness and vowed to take her after Bran's chat.

He got up from his chair and walked over to him, hugging Bran tightly. “I missed you, little brother.” he said, smiling as he dropped onto his knees, sitting close to his cart.

“I missed you, Jon.” Bran sighed, looking down.

“Okay, we're all alone. What is it?”

“It's...it's about your mother, Jon. I know who she is and what happened to her.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister arrives at Riverrun and deals with the Freys. He realizes he doesn't like them at all and reflects on the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in the upload. Jaime's POV is interesting for me since I like to incorporate parts of the book and the show in showcasing his character. I hope you all enjoy this one. <3

“This is an outrage, Ser! The King promised us that Riverrun would belong to House Frey!” bellowed Emmon Frey, shaking a bony finger towards him.

Jaime Lannister had departed King's Landing just after Euron Greyjoy and his fleet had arrived, taking with him a small force of three thousand men lead by Ser Addam Marbrand. His destination was the Riverlands – where he officially was supposed to ensure that Houses Mallister and Blackwood bent the knee to Queen Cersei and the Iron Throne.

Unofficially he would do no such thing. The things that he'd seen since returning from The Twins to find the Sept in ruins and his son Tommen dead had shocked him. Cersei had seized the throne through sheer force, using Lannister men to keep the nobles – that is, those who survived – as virtual hostages. The fact she was able and willing to use wildfire – the same wildfire Aerys had stored under the Sept – had brought him to his breaking point.

The last straw had been when she had accepted a marriage alliance with Euron Greyjoy, a man well known for his unpredictable and violent behavior. He'd given Cersei one thousand ships and their crews in exchange for marrying into the Throne. Whilst the marriage would not be for another few weeks yet the effects of the Ironborn's presence in King's Landing was immediate.

She'd given them free reign to pillage and rape the smallfolk and most of Flea Bottom was a nest of atrocities. When Jaime had tried to march his troops there to bring them to order she forbade him under pain of death. In addition her Hand of the Queen, the former maester Qyburn was rumored to be producing more wildfire for her to use against anyone who threatened her power.

He was in Riverrun now dealing with Ser Emmon Frey – the late Walder Frey's second son and new Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. The Freys would be a disaster waiting to happen if they were left to rule unchecked – so Jaime had just told Ser Emmon that he intended to leave two thousand Lannister troops in Riverrun and the surrounding areas to ensure a peaceful reign for the new Great House.

“And you have Riverrun. I am not taking the castle from you, I am merely garrisoning my own soldiers here. Given the tragic events that occured at the Twins – with the deaths of your father and two of your brothers, the reliability of your own soldiers is...shall we say, questionable. My own men are far better suited to helping secure the peace here.” he replied, tapping his golden hand on the table before him. Jaime had to fight his disgust of the man – Emmon was as vile as the rest of House Frey.

_Fitting that my dear sister consorts with worms like these._

“Rest assured that whoever murdered my beloved father will pay the price.” Emmon drawled, rubbing at his bald head ever so firmly. The man sweated constantly as though he were leaking and Jaime spied damp cloths everywhere around the room. “I have sent birds to The Twins asking for clarification on who now rules there.”

“And? Which of your brothers has taken Lord Walder's place?” Jaime inquired. Which of the worms will rule the shit heap now?

“Not a brother, but my nephew Ryman. My late brother Stevron's first son. He is Lord of the Crossing as by rights. I have sworn myself to his service as a loyal son of House Frey.” Emmon's voice betrayed the contempt and bitterness he felt on having to serve a nephew of his.

“I shall delight to meet him when I've finished subduing the Riverlands for you.” Jaime chuckled dryly causing Emmon to flush a deep shade of red. _Squirm all you like, Emmon – it's the truth._

“Now, Ser Jaime – most of the Riverlands have bent the knee to the Iron Throne. These last two holdouts are merely sad remnants of the wolf kingdom. I..I think that the Queen would be pleased by how we have managed to control the area.” Emmon stammered, wiping his head with another cloth.

Jaime shrugged, reflecting bitterly on the Riverlands situation. The region had been utterly devastated by the war – it was one of the first places that his father targeted. Most of the farms and hold-fasts were still in ruins from various armies and their battles. With Cersei's ascension to the Iron Throne the hope of any real peace and restoration for the land had been lost forever.

_She'd destroy everything for want of whispers,_ Jaime bit down on his lip. “Control the area? That's good, Emmon. Bandits run free all around here from Castle Darry to Stone Hedge. Farms and crops are still not being grown. And your own men believe they have a mandate to loot and pillage as they see fit.”

“We are doing what we can to bring them -”

“No, Emmon you aren't. We both know that you're letting your men run around like a dog off a leash. That ends today. My garrison will be patrolling vigilantly and taking care of both bandits and your own rogue soldiers.” Jaime snapped, grinding his teeth together with visible irritation. _For all the damned Tullys hated me and mine, they at least kept this place peaceful and prosperous._

“But ser -”

“Enough, Emmon! Now, if you'll excuse me. My men and I march for Raventree Hall. How many men are garrisoned there?”

Ser Emmon shrugged, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh. “Five hundred, mayhaps? We just...haven't been able to get that close for fear of detection.” he mumbled, sweat dripping down onto his tunic.

“Fine. I wish you well, Ser.” Without waiting for his reply Jaime strolled out of the solar and into the courtyard of the castle.

* * *

It was there he found Bronn, idly leaning up against one of the support beams. Servants and soldiers rushed this way and that while the sell-sword simply stared up at the sky, the sun partially obscured by the flag of the twin towers of Frey. “Ready?” Jaime greeted, a grin on his face.

Bronn shrugged. “Be glad to get out of here. These grubby fuckers are gross – I mean, seriously. They smell like bathing is a foreign concept for 'em.” the man grumbled as Jaime laughed heartily. As the duo walked through the castle they passed the godswood – a tiny area with one large weirwood growing in its center.

“This is where them northmen worship the trees, right?” Bronn asked, idly tapping the tree curiously.

Jaime nodded, staring up at the tree's branches, its leaves swaying gently in the wind. _The Starks prayed here,_ he noted sadly. While Jaime had remained focused solely on his duty these past months he could not help feel in the back of his mind a surge of guilt for the events of the past few years. The wars, death and destruction started because of his tryst with Cersei.

Now his sister had become a monster and his mind was filled with another image. The tall beauty, her sword gleaming in the sun. “Brienne...” Jaime whispered to himself, his face forlorn. He'd last seen her the night that Riverrun fell, gliding down the Trident with her squire by her side.

He wondered if she'd made it back to Sansa by now. It was likely a long journey from here to Winterfell – but she was strong. She'd endure.

“You alright?” Bronn snapped at him, waving a hand in front of his face. “Lost ya there.”

“Wha – oh. Sorry. Yes, I'm fine.” Jaime sighed as the pair left the godswood.

They found Ser Addam at the front gates of the castle, barking orders to the soldiers. “My lord,” he bowed, nodding respectfully. “We've deployed the troops to garrison the area as you ordered. The remaining men stand ready and waiting for your orders.”

Jaime rolled his shoulders as his armor began to ache slightly. “We make for Raventree Hall.” he commanded. As he clambered atop his horse, the beast gently trotting across the drawbridge Jaime looked back and saw the faded Tully fish carved into the stone above it. He thought of Catelyn Stark, of Edmure Tully – still a prisoner at the Twins – and of a man he admired greatly, the Blackfish.

_I can't bring back the dead, but I can at least give the living some peace._

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon reacts to the news Bran has to give him. Bran shows Jon a vision of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I don't muck this up too much for y'all. <3

_“Promise me, Ned. Promise me..”_

The words echoed in Jon's mind as Bran brought them out of his vision, bringing them back to Winterfell's godswood. Bran released his grasp on the bark and aided by Meera, sat back onto his sled. He turned to look at Jon, a look of sadness and concern etched in his face. “Jon...I'm sorry, but you had to know.”

Jon didn't hear him. In fact, he did not hear anything – his mind was completely blank. His mouth was ajar and he sat staring blankly into the sky. His whole world had just been cracked open, shattered – revealed to have been a lie.

He grew up believing that while he was a bastard, he was still the son of Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. The most honorable man that Westeros had ever – or would ever know. He had joined the Night's Watch and gone to the Wall because of the fact he was a Snow and not a Stark. Everything he did – everything he had ever done was because he wanted to prove to himself and those around him that he was someone.

And it had all been meaningless in the end. The truth crashed down upon Jon as a snowbank would. His father – no, not his father. His uncle – had lied to him all of his life. He was not a true son of Eddard Stark. The very identity that had cast him as King in the North was based on a lie – how he was raised was all a lie.

His uncle's words echoed in his head – their last meeting when Jon rode to the Wall and Eddard rode south to King's Landing, never to return home.

_...and you are a Stark. You might not have my name – but you have my blood._

_Is my mother alive? Does she know about me – does she care?_

_The next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother. I promise._

Jon buried his head in his hands and cried bitterly. Everything he knew about himself, everything he'd fought – and died for – shattered in an instant. He felt unwelcome, an alien – a pox on the North. That's what he truly was. The offspring of a man who had abducted Lyanna Stark and savaged her. He was worse then a bastard – he was a rapist's bastard.

“Jon,” Bran called, Meera pushing the sled over beside him. “Please, don't be upset.” he laid a hand on Jon's shoulder. Jon didn't reply, sobbing harder into his hands. “No matter what this says – you are still my brother. Nothing can change that.”

Jon heard Meera's faint voice through his tears. “This is a lot for him to take in, Bran.”

Jon raised his head to meet Bran's gaze, his eyes bright red and his cheeks stained with tears. The words caught in his throat as he tried to speak. “...don't belong here.” he managed to croak out.

“Jon?” Bran looked to him, puzzled.

“...i don't belong here. I'm not a Stark or even a Snow. I'm...something that shouldn't exist.” he moaned, the tears starting to flow from his eyes again.

“Jon – you do belong here. Lyanna Stark was every bit a Northman and daughter of Winterfell as Ned Stark was a son.” Bran leaned over his sled and hugged Jon tightly. “As I said, you are my brother no matter what. And I know that Father always thought of you as his son. He did all of this for you.”

“..why?” Jon sighed. “I'm the damaged goods. The lust of Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“Jon, think about it.” Bran smiled to him. “If Lyanna – your mother – had birthed you because Rhaegar had taken her forcefully she would not have gone through so much effort to protect you. That was why she asked Father to take you in – because if Robert Baratheon knew about you he would have had you killed, like Prince Rhaegar's other children.”

“There's more to the vision, Jon. Come back in with me. I'll show you.” Bran offered his hand as Meera pushed him back to the weirwood.

Jon looked hesitant. “Why should I? To see more of what kind of a monster birthed me?” he spat.

“Jon, please. You said you trust me.” Bran's voice was soft and pleading.

He stuck his hand out and grasped Bran's, his grip reluctant but strong. Bran exhaled sharply and touched his free hand to the weirwood as both of their perspectives changed.

* * *

Jon found himself standing outside of the tower where he'd seen his mother give birth, the dead bodies of Kingsguard and Northmen scattered about. One man was bent over the corpses, checking them for signs of life.

“Howland Reed is his name. Meera's his daughter. He had another child – Jojen, who came with us as I went North. He...didn't survive.” Bran sighed, the memories obviously hard for him to bear.

After a moment Ned Stark walked out of the tower carrying baby Jon in his arms. The boy squirmed and grabbed at his tunic as he did so. Jon noted a scroll also tucked into his arms just beside his infant self.

“Howland,” Ned called, his voice hoarse. The man rose to his feet and turned to face him. Jon saw then that his tunic had been slashed open and he'd taken a wound to his chest which he grasped, the cut being thankfully shallow.

“My lord – Lady Lyanna, is she -” he began but stopped short as he saw the infant. “Is that...”

“Aye. Lyanna's son.” Ned nodded. Howland walked over and looked down at the babe, nodding his head in realization. “Of course...why else would Rhaegar bring her all the way to Dorne but to give birth?”

“There's something else, too.” he motioned for the scroll in his arms which Howland took and opened.

“A marriage certificate...” he read, mouthing the words silently.

“Aye. Lyanna and Rhaegar were married in the eyes of the Seven. Arthur Dayne and Lord Commander Hightower were the witnesses.” Ned trudged back to the steps of the tower and slumped down with Jon in his arms. He stared into the boy's eyes.

“Lyanna...she wants me to keep him safe. If Robert finds out she had a child with Rhaegar..”

“He'll end up like Aegon and Rhaenys.” Howland finished for him.

Jon walked over to the two men with Bran at his side. He sat down next to his father and watched silently.

“I found another scroll inside.” Ned placed Jon on the steps gently and went for his tunic pocket. “A letter from Lyanna – I think she wanted to give it to Father the day she was...taken.”

Intrigued, Jon got up and peered at the letter as Ned read it.

>   _Father,_
> 
> _This is my goodbye for now, but not forever. I will return, of that you have my word as your daughter. However I cannot and will not in good conscience marry Robert Baratheon. The man is a drunken womanizer, barely worthy of the title that he holds as Lord of Storm's End, let alone to be my husband-to-be._
> 
> _I've tried to tell you this several times but you seem to not want to hear me out for whatever reason. He's Ned's friend – this I understand, but I can't marry a man I don't love. And besides, when you are reading this letter you'll know that I've gone away with someone I do love._
> 
> _Rhaegar is not a prince to me, nor a lord or a knight or any kind of heir to a powerful throne. He is a man – a beautiful, kind and perfect man. Someone that I have grown to love – truly love. But I know that we could never be officially matched given how insane his father is._
> 
> _I know you will not approve since the Prince is already wed. However while he cares for Elia Martell and his children he cannot remain with a woman he does not wish to give his heart to. And I do not wish to be with a man I do not wish to give my heart to._
> 
> _Do not despair for I have not been snatched away. I will return when the time is right with my love – or not at all._
> 
> _Give my love to Ned, Brandon and Benjen._
> 
> _Your daughter always,_
> 
> _Lyanna Stark_

 

“She went with him willingly..” Howland whispered, mouth agape.

“Aye. It seems that she never got the chance to deliver it – she must not have had the time.” Ned sighed, discarding the letter and picking up the infant Jon. “Now, she has a son – and I have the duty to keep him safe.”

“What will you do, my lord?”

“The only thing I can do. Howland – as your liege lord I order you to never speak of the events that transpired here. Not to me or anyone – family included. We take this to our graves – do you hear me? Our graves.” Ned commanded, his voice growing stern as he rose to his feet.

“Yes, Lord Stark.” Howland bowed stiffly, grasping his chest with a pained breath.

“She gave him a name – but I didn't hear her fully.” Ned looked back to the infant Jon, who cooed happily in his arms, idly grabbing at his nose and hair. “Jon. His name is Jon Snow. And he is my son.”

“Snow is a bastard name, Lord Stark -” Howland began.

“I know. But...but it is better for him to grow up as a bastard then to not grow up at all, should Robert find out anything. Besides – he looks like Lyanna more then he does Rhaegar. I should not have an issue passing him off to my lady wife.”

Ned smiled down at the baby. “Hello, Jon Snow,” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Euron gets an assignment from his Queen.

Euron Greyjoy strolled through the corridors of the Red Keep, casually running a hand along the wall as he walked. _King's Landing was a shit-heap of a city,_ he reflected – _but it would be good for keeping the men in line for now._ Thanks to his generous gift to Queen Cersei he'd been allowed to give his men free reign to rape and pillage the poorest parts of the city – provided he leave the nobility alone. That was fine by him, and so his men were free to pay the iron price for gold, salt wives and other worldly treasures.

A sly smirk played on his face as he approached the Queen's Chamber. Outside stood the Mountain, towering over everyone and everything alive in his suit of armour. If Euron ever developed the ability to be honest with anyone – even himself – he would admit that he was intimidated by this tower of a man. Yet he was Euron Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands and Lord Reaper of Pyke. Soon to be Prince Consort of the Seven Kingdoms too, he grinned malevolently.

Of course, he did not plan to remain Prince Consort for long. “I need to see my bride-to-be.” he stated to the massive bodyguard who ignored him, his yellow eyes staring down the hallway. After a moment of this uncomfortable silence he moved aside, allowing Euron to enter the chamber.

As he entered he knocked lightly on the second inner door to announce his presence, his cape flowing behind him. “Oh, dearest? It's Euron,” he called out in a mocking voice. The truth was that both he and Cersei knew theirs would be a sham marriage more so then the one she'd had with Robert Baratheon was; it was solely a trade between Houses Greyjoy and Lannister, nothing more. Of course Euron knew a bit more then his bride did about the future but he'd keep that to himself for the time being.

“Lord Greyjoy,” called a man's voice, causing Euron to narrow his eyes. Into his view from a chamber to the right stepped Qyburn, Cersei's Hand of the King. The old man wore a robe of black – as he always did – and always reminded Euron of a mouse. Still Cersei had said he was one of her most loyal subjects and invaluable to her ascension to the Iron Throne. _Whatever,_ Euron thought. _She can keep her little toady_.

Euron nodded to him as he strolled into the main chamber. “Qyburn, right?”

“But of course,” the man smiled wickedly, clasping his hands together. “The Queen and I were just discussing an interesting turn of events. Something I think you would be interested in hearing.” the man's voice was almost gleefully high as he spoke, causing Euron to raise a brow.

“I always love an interesting turn of events. What is it?”

Cersei stepped into the room as Euron spoke, garbed in a robe of green and black – with what appeared to be drawings of flames on the sleeves and chest. “It seems that our beloved Targaryen girl has had a bit of trouble with her dragons. Qyburn?” she smiled sweetly towards the old man.

“Scouts reported seeing not one but two dragons take flight from Dragonstone over the past three days – both of which were headed north at a frightening speed. Strangely they both ignored any viable targets on the way – they simply were focused on flying to..well, wherever they are going.”

“Why would she fly north with two dragons? Girl must have more balls than brains.” Euron snickered, amused. _The girl's made a costly mistake,_ Euron smirked. _Now she'll have to pay the iron price._

“We don't know. Neither beast has returned, however. Her fleet is still anchored at Dragonstone and remains strong, but with only one dragon flying overhead instead of three...” Qyburn sat himself down on one of the couches.

“It means that it will be easier for us to assault the island.” Cersei announced, sitting herself in a plush chair to Qyburn's left. “Or rather – for you to assault the island.”

 _So that's her game,_ Euron realized. _Fine, I'll play – for now._ “Ahh – now I see your plan. Kill me and the Targaryen girl in one fell swoop. Well I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, dear wife. The girl – oh she'll be dead, no need to worry, but me? I am Death itself.”

Cersei allowed herself a smirk towards him. “If you return alive we will marry. Consider this an...engagement gift for your darling bride.”

“What a lovely gesture, My Queen.” Qyburn added, bowing his head. Euron fought the urge to vomit at the man's sycophancy – he hated those who would not stand on their own two feet. He reminds me of dear little Theon. Euron remembered the fear and terror in his beloved nephew's eyes as he snatched Yara from her flagship.

“Well, if that's the case I should make ready my fleet, no?” Euron turned to the door.

“One more thing, Euron -” Cersei looked towards him. “The wildfire was delivered to the docks this morning. Your men should have already been placing it aboard your warships. You have my leave to use it – all of it. Burn down Dragonstone if you have to.”

Euron smirked as he left the room, heading for his ship.

Aboard the _Silence,_ which was docked at the mouth of the Blackwater Euron surveyed the loading of the wildfire barrels aboard the other vessels of the Iron Fleet. He watched as servants and workers loaded the shipments with little fear. _The fools likely don't know what's in them_ , he laughed.

“Lord Greyjoy,” came a voice from his left. Euron knew at once who it was – Lord “Blacktide” Botley, whom the Fleet had chosen to be the envoy aboard his flagship. The balding man stood with his hand on his belt, his garb loose fitting and saggy. “The fleet stands ready to sail at your command.”

“Good. We make for Dragonstone in the morning.”

That caught Botley by surprise. “Dragonstone? We attack?”

Euron patted the man's shoulder. “Are you going hard of hearing in your old age too Botley? Yes, we attack. Make ready the fleet.” he commanded, leaving to head below deck.

* * *

As he descended the stairs towards his cabin he saw the familiar grey robes of a Drowned Priest waiting for him at the doors. _Ahh, beloved Aeron_. “Brother!” Euron greeted, putting on his best smile. He knew that the Damphair would never smile again – he always wore the same stony expression no matter the situation.

“Your Grace.” Aeron bowed stiffly.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Damphair ground his teeth together as he searched for words. “I come here as your brother, not as a servant of the God.”

Euron nodded, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “And...?”

“I must know your intentions toward Yara.” His hands gently tapped the driftwood cudgel at his side. “She may have been a contender for the Kingsmoot but she is also your – our niece.”

Euron laughed, reaching out to pat his brother's wet arm. “You're worried for her, aren't you? Ahh, Damphair – I knew you cared!”

Aeron's frown only deepened. “I do not joke, Euron.” he snapped. “You admitted to the murder of our brother – and King, Balon – at the Kingsmoot. By all rights you should be dead for your kinslaying ways!”

Euron's smile turned into a sneer and his eyes grew dark and menacing. “You're right, Aeron. I should be. But you know what? You crowned me as your King. Funny how that works, doesn't it? It's almost as if the Drowned God is...afraid of little old me.”

He enjoyed the shock that came over his brother's face as he spoke those words. In truth Euron cared nothing for the Drowned God – or any god, for that matter. He simply had to put on his best ironborn face to truly win over the fools.

“You blaspheme against the God? After all he has done for you?”

“I am not blaspheming, brother. I am simply making it clear that you know the situation.” Euron smiled again, his eyes twinkling with malevolence. “Use your head – we're Ironborn! I paid the Iron Price for my crown. Just as it should be...and besides, do you think Westeros cares for concepts like 'guest right' or 'kinslaying' any longer? Look at what happened to the Starks. Those concepts don't mean shit to anybody anymore.”

“They may not matter to you, but they do matter to me. As a Drowned Priest and a servant of our God -”

“You have to stop me, do not harm your kin, blah blah blah.” Euron nodded his head. “I know the score, brother. But for what it's worth, Yara is worth more to me alive and unharmed at the moment.”

“Watch yourself, Euron Greyjoy.” Aeron spat, glaring at him as he continued grinding his teeth. “Do not think that the Drowned Men will tolerate any conduct of yours just because you are King. Need I remind you that we have deposed a King before?”

 _Poor Aeron, he just made his last mistake._ “Not at all, dear brother.” Euron snapped his fingers as two of his crew rounded on the men, grasping Aeron by the arms as he tried to break free of their vice-like grip. “Take my dear brother to the cargo hold. Keep him there under guard.”

As he was dragged away Euron allowed himself a laugh. _Not so powerful now, are you?_

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Arya react to the news about Jon. Winterfell gets a surprise visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy my interpretation thus far! I've put a lot of work into it and I think it's my favorite of the chapters I've written.

Jon had shut himself in the Lord's Chamber since he'd been inside the vision with Bran – the vision that exposed the truth about himself and his parentage. He sat in total darkness, not allowing any candles or servants to enter as he slumped in his study chair, staring vacantly at the floor.

His mind was still reeling with the information that he had seen and heard. The fact the man he knew as his father was really his uncle, and his father was the Prince of Westeros who'd died long before he was even born. As for his mother? She was the reason for the bloody and brutal rebellion – culminating in the deaths of so many thousands of people, northern and southern alike. They died so two people could be in love, he reflected bitterly.

Jon had been unable to break the news to Sansa and Arya himself so he had asked Bran to show them the vision as best as he could. Bran had agreed, knowing how volatile Jon was at the time. He imagined that the two were aware of the news by now and were absorbing it as best as they could, just as he was – or, at least was trying to.

It was clear that his next steps would be crucial. He would call a meeting of his bannermen when they had arrived – most of the northern banners had arrived save for a few stragglers and would reveal the truth before abdicating his throne in favour of Sansa. She can be Queen as she deserves, he nodded to himself. He thought of her red hair and her sheer, utter perfection and sobbed into his hands once more. After he passed the crown to her – she deserved it and far, far more – he would go North with Rhaegal and fight against the Others. If he lived, he would leave Westeros for good. His presence would only cause more pain and infighting among people if they learned of his true parentage.

Jon heard Rhaegal circling overhead, his great wings flapping in the evening air. He'd been urged to chain the beast up for the duration it would be at Winterfell but Jon just knew somehow that he would cause no harm. So, he'd made sure that the dragon had his fill of food – sheep and pigs mostly – and as much air and sunlight as it wanted. So far, it was happy and content – at least from what Jon could tell. He laughed bitterly as he realized why he could ride a dragon after all. “I guess that's the one thing my real father gave me.” He wondered what Rhaegar Targaryen would think of him – what would he say about this northern looking, northern acting and northern King of a son he had? Would he be proud?

Yet even as he tried to picture the Prince of Dragonstone's face he could not, only seeing the face of Ned Stark – his uncle by blood. The word 'father' was etched in his mind to mean Ned, not Rhaegar. And no amount of wishing and visualization could change that. From when he was old enough to walk Jon knew Eddard Stark as his father. Yet he was not, and had lied to him his entire life. _It was to protect you,_ Bran's words rang in his head.

Jon rose to his feet and walked to the window, opening the curtains and letting in a flow of evening light. He stood away from it, concealing himself in the darkness. It felt almost right that he should hide – just as he had stayed hidden while a bastard – but this time for a different reason. “Why couldn't you tell me, Father?” Jon spoke aloud. “No, not father...uncle...whatever!” he sighed, slamming his fist on the wall angrily.

A knock at the door interrupted his brooding thoughts. “My Lord, Lady Sansa requests a word with you. She says it is urgent.” came the guard's voice. Jon was tempted to refuse her – to turn her away as he'd done with everyone else, but his heart called for her and she had come.

“Send her in.” he commanded, going back to his study chair and encircling himself in the dark as the door opened. Sansa entered, wearing a blue and red dress that showed off the barest hint of skin above her breasts – and Jon inhaled sharply as he drank in the sight of her.

She searched the room and locked eyes with Jon, her face falling into a gentle smile. “Jon...”

“You know, I take it?” he retorted, keeping his eyes to the ground. _I don't deserve to look at you..._

She rushed over to his side and squashed herself onto his lap before he could respond, the feel of her hips and bottom against his legs and groin enough to stir his cock into an uncomfortable twitch. Wrapping her hands around his neck she kissed him deeply. They stayed locked in this embrace – uncomfortable but loving – for a few moments before they broke for air.

“Sansa, I'm not worthy of you -” Jon began before he was cut off by Sansa.

“Don't say that, Jon...I told you before that I love you. Do you think that changes because...because of this?” she whispered to him as she pulled them out of the chair and onto their feet. Jon offered no resistance as she guided him to the bed and pushed him down onto it.

Jon sat back up after he hit the sheets, staring towards her as she sat down beside him, taking his hand in hers. “Your mother loved you enough to trust you to Father. And no matter who he was – truly was to you – he'll always be your father. You know that.” she smiled, her hand squeezing his tightly.

Jon nodded slightly at her words, still ashen-faced. “They chose me as King because they thought me Father's son. But it turns out I'm...i'm not even that. Bastard or no. I know what I have to do now.”

Sansa leaned in close to him and put her hand on his face. “I know what you need to do as well. Think about it, Jon. This means we're cousins by blood, not half-brother and sister. Tell me – do you know who Lord Rickard, our grandfather married?”

Jon shrugged. “Lyarra Stark. Why?”

“Lyarra was Grandfather's cousin. Do you understand? We are cousins – and cousins have married plenty of times in the North and South alike. Is it starting to sink in yet?” she teased, gently sliding her hand down to his chest and placing it over his heart.

Jon furrowed his brows slightly as he ran over what she'd said, trying to separate it all apart. It was almost as if his mind was unable to process anything beyond a simple 'hello ' - the words were heard and understood but his brain refused to process them. “Cousins marry..” he repeated to himself.

Then it hit him.

His eyes went wide with realization as he finally understood what Sansa had been saying. A relieved smile broke out over his face as he felt renewed – truly renewed – and he kissed her with passion and love, with care and trust and happiness. With everything he had.

She returned his love with her own feelings – relief, joy and acceptance. As they embraced Sansa gently swung over onto Jon's lap, straddling him. They continued to kiss as Jon began to cry, his tears falling down his face onto his tunic as Sansa nuzzled him. They both panted softly after breaking their lips apart, catching their breath.

“Marry me, Jon...” Sansa whispered as she nuzzled his neck, using a hand to wipe his eyes softly. “Marry me and we will be husband and wife...king and queen...no one can touch us ever again. No one will threaten your claim..” she continued, gripping his chest tightly as she continued nuzzling into his neck.

“I don't care about the crown, Sansa...” Jon breathed, his lips locking in on her neck where he'd marked her previously, “I want you...now and forever.” And that was the truth – by the old gods and new. Jon had never wanted power, never wanted anything since he'd returned from the darkness that night. But now his shattered heart – broken by Ygritte's death and his own at the hands of men he trusted – was healing, thanks to Sansa.

Sansa ran her hands through Jon's hair. “Ever since I was a girl – a stupid, naive and foolish girl – I dreamt of knights and kings to come sweep me off my feet like in the stories. You remember...don't you?”

Jon had to laugh, biting his tongue as he tried not to. “Oh, all too well.”

“I'll pretend I didn't hear you laughing, Jon..” she whispered, giggling herself. “I always thought that those stories were foolish after all that's happened since King's Landing – but I've found the hero to sweep me off my feet, and he's been right in front of me the whole time.”

Jon kissed her again, the sweet taste of her lips being an intoxicant to Jon's mind. As they embraced again another knock came at the door. The two quickly broke apart as Jon rose off the bed. “Yes?”

* * *

The guard's voice echoed again. “Your Grace, Lady Arya wants to speak with you now. Shall I tell her to come back later?”

Sansa and Jon smiled at one another. “No, no – that's fine. Send her in too.” As Arya entered the pair quickly separated – Jon sitting in his study chair and Sansa on the bed. That was where she found them.

“Oh, Sans. You're already here.” Arya nodded, turning her head towards Jon. “Jon...how are you doing?” she asked and Jon noticed her eyes stained with dry tears.

“I'm...coping as best I can, Arya.” Jon replied, getting to his feet and walking over to her. She threw her arms around him as Jon did the same, smiling down at her. “It's alright, it's alright. I think.”

“Of course it is! You're my brother – you're Jon. You're the one who's always been there for me – remember?” she clamped her eyes shut as best she could yet more tears fell. “I always stuck up for you when...when people would put you down for being a bastard.”

“Arya, it's alright..” Jon soothed her, rubbing the top of her back softly. “I'm just...still trying to take all of this in.”

“Sansa should be happy at least, she gets to be Queen now – right?” Arya retorted, her eyes glistening as she sniffled, wiping her sleeve against her face.

“Arya, don't say that!” Jon protested, grasping her gently by the shoulders. “Sansa and I stand together against..against all of this. I mean she was the first of our family I'd seen in years. I thought I had lost all of you forever.”

Sansa got to her feet and grasped Jon's hand. “It's alright, Jon. Arya, I promise Jon will keep his title as King. He deserves it – far more then I. They trust him, they know him.” she exhaled softly, a thin smile creeping onto her face. “Jon and I will wed. He will have the Stark name by marriage if not by blood. Then no one may challenge his rule.”

Arya blinked rapidly, stepping back in surprise. “You...Sansa, what..?” she exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You'd do that...for Jon?”

“I told you before Arya. Family matters to me. More then anything in this world after what we've gone through. Jon is family and I won't let any of these lords – especially not the one we're all thinking of – do anything to jeopardize him or Winterfell again.”

Sansa smiled at her sister. Arya was still trying to come to terms with how she'd changed. It was understandable – and thanks to Baelish, had caused some conflicts – but the two sisters had agreed to work together to bring Petyr down. And now with this revelation becoming known to them, it was imperative that they moved even quicker. Because if Baelish found out anything about this...

“So who knows so far?” Arya asked cautiously.

Jon tapped his fingers on his thigh as he counted the numbers in his head. “You, me, Sansa, Bran and Meera Reed. Just us five. It should stay that way until we can announce it to the North proper – and keep Baelish from being able to manipulate things to fit his needs, whatever they might be. But – the announcement.” Jon sighed, knowing what was to come. “It'll have to wait until I return from the Wall. The Others – well I don't think they're willing to wait until we settle all of this political drama to attack, so we've to prioritize things.”

A relaxed silence fell over the room as the three locked together in a hug, their arms wrapping around each other as tightly as they could go. Their moment was interrupted by a terrifyingly loud roar coming off to the west.

* * *

Jon knew at once what this was. Drogon and the Queen, he realized as he ran out of his chambers, shouting to everyone in sight to get to their posts. Arya and Sansa followed behind him, their faces both confused and afraid. He wanted to hang back, to comfort them – but he knew for the sake of Winterfell he couldn't delay.

Jon reached the courtyard just as Tormund and a large group of Winterfell men did, their arrows all trained at the sky. “Sounds like the Targar-bitch doesn't like your stealing the dragon!” Tormund whispered as they gathered together.

Sure enough in the evening sky Jon saw the large black cloud that was Drogon begin to descend. He was large – much larger then Rhaegal, who Jon saw roaring towards his sibling from the eastern towers.

Jon's heart beat strongly in his chest as the cloud descended to the grounds outside of the main gate, the resulting crash from his landing causing a lasting quake in all directions as the large talons sank into the earth. Drogon raised his head to the sky and let out a mighty roar – the sound threatened to deafen anyone within range.

“OPEN THE GATE!” Jon yelled as he ran forward. The gate guard somehow managed to hear him over the din of frightened men and beasts and the gate began to churn open, the doors creaking mournfully.

Jon sprinted out into the grounds as he watched Daenerys jump gracefully down from Drogon's back, the dragon sitting upright as she landed and shooting a gout of flame into the air. _A warning_ , Jon concluded. The Dragon Queen rapidly made her way to stand face to face with him, both of their expressions neutral and guarded.

“I'm upset, King Jon. You left without saying goodbye.” she quipped sarcastically, idly looking up at the high walls of the keep. “And here I thought we were getting along so well.”

Jon nodded, lowering his hand from Longclaw. “When I realized that you were unwilling to come to our aid, I felt that...drastic measures needed to be taken. You can rest easy that Rhaegal has not been harmed. In fact, he's rather enjoying his time up here.” Jon looked to the sky and shouted the dragon's name as loud as he could.

Rhaegal answered him with a roar and within a flash was landing at his side while Daenerys looked on in astonishment. Jon reached out and patted the side of his face as the dragon purred for him, opening and closing its mouth.

Daenerys stared open mouth at Rhaegal for several moments before recovering her composure – though she still appeared rattled by what had happened. “You know why I've come. Return my child to me and no one need to die. Refuse, and well – you've seen how big Drogon is. You know he can breathe fire.” she raised a slender eyebrow, “what will your choice be?”

Jon nodded, walking forward a few steps towards her. He pointed out to the east in the direction of the Wall. “The Wall is but a few leagues that way. Go there and see what they face. The army of the dead is there, truly there.” he watched as her eyes followed his hand. “My choice is what it was when I took the dragon in the first place. To fight for my people – and for all of Westeros.”

“Damn you, Jon Snow!” she spat, glaring at him ruefully. “You play with forces you do not understand. Dragons are not dogs or beasts of burden like your wolf here,” she pointed to Ghost, who had come bounding out of the gate and to his master's side, growling at her threateningly. “Return Rhaegal to me and we can forget this ever took place.”

Jon smiled at her. “I have another idea in mind. You and I ride together to the Wall. We use the dragons and destroy the Night King and his army. Once that's finished, I'll give Rhaegal back to you and then you can take King's Landing and rule over the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You do not dictate the terms here!”

“I'm not dictating anything, Your Grace.” Jon nodded. “If you want a kingdom to rule over after you've dealt with Cersei Lannister, you'd swallow your pride and help us. I have twenty thousand northern spears that are just about finished mobilizing. I have another twenty thousand knights from the Vale of Arryn currently manning the Wall. Forty thousand men are at my command as King in the North – and even then it would not be enough to stop the Others.”

Jon sighed, his breath growing misty in the evening air. “Not even your army would be large enough to stop them. For every soldier that is killed the Night King gains one more recruit. Fire is the only way – and with two dragons, we have the fire we need to destroy his army and fight our way to the Others themselves.”

Daenerys's face grew conflicted. Jon saw the fire burning behind her eyes but her expression softened from hatred to something more benign. “So, what will the choice be, Your Grace? War with the North – a war you may win physically but lose mentally – or co-operation, where we fight together against the true enemy and find a way to work as allies, not subjects.”

The sound of grinding teeth was all Jon could make out in the din. Daenerys's eyes shot this way and that as she seemed to be considering what to say next. Jon appeared calm and collected on the outside but on the inside his heart was in his throat. She could refuse him outright and burn everything to the ground – ending his Kingdom in the North in a fiery flash.

His breathing grew ragged as he watched her, anxiety building in his chest. Beads of sweat trickled down the front of his forehead as he blinked ever so slowly, trying his best to ignore the trembling in his right hand.

Finally after what felt like an eternity Daenerys turned her gaze directly to Jon. “You will have a debt to pay back to me after this is finished. Do you understand me? It can be anything I choose at anytime I wish to call in the debt.”

Jon closed his eyes and nodded. “I agree.” he stated, his voice slightly cracking. A wave of relief washed over him as she smiled.

“Excellent. Now, if you don't mind I am famished. Shall we dine together?”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister treats with Lord Blackwood of Raventree Hall.

_The land is dead,_ Jaime noted as he rode a leisurely pace through Blackwood Vale. From what he had been told by some of his men – those who'd served during his father's campaign against the river lords – the land around Raventree Hall was once full and lush, with villages and hold-fasts as far as the eye could see. Farmers farming, planters planting and people generally enjoying their lives, as simple as they were.

That was of course a distant memory. As Jaime and his men marched on they found nothing to indicate any sign of life outside of the castle walls – ruined houses dotted the landscape, upturned carts with rotting produce and other goods lay scattered this way and that, and the fields that once produced lush and bountiful harvests lay burnt and ashen. On some of the few remaining trees Jaime could even see remnants of skulls or nooses.

The Riverlands – save for the small villages nearest to the Twins – were in ruin, and it would take years if not decades or centuries for people to repopulate and rebuild what had been lost. Jaime called a halt to the column as Ser Addam rode up next to him.

“My lord.” the man bowed his head, looking about for any signs of trouble. _Or life, for that matter._ “Your orders?”

Jaime turned his horse to face his men. “Set camp here away from the siege lines.” He could make out the barricades from here; crude wood and stone affairs affixed with row upon row of spears. There were at least a dozen between their location and the stone walls of Raventree. “Make no move until I command it.”

As Ser Addam rode away Jaime dismounted his horse, kicking a stone at his feet. He vaguely recalled passing through the region on his way north with King Robert and Cersei, a lifetime ago now. Back when the realm was at peace – there was no war, no fear or ruin to be found. And now? He sighed and walked over to where some of his men were setting up the command tent. As he oversaw the erection of the tents, his mind wandered back to those days. They were far simpler and happier for him, even with Robert alive.

He'd made sure the tents were far enough from the walls of Raventree to avoid being vulnerable to arrow fire but close enough so that any defenders would be able to look out and see the paltry numbers that he'd brought with him. One thousand soldiers would never be able to break the walls of such an old keep – and Jaime knew it.

Returning to his horse and mounting, Jaime found Ser Addam overseeing the set up of the sleeping tents for the men. “I ride to parley with Lord Blackwood. Post sentries and make sure there's no ambushes from either side.”

* * *

Jaime and another officer carrying the Lannister banner rode up to the first set of barricades, located directly on the main road leading to the entrance to Raventree. The barricades were made hastily out of carts, wagons and other assorted furniture including beds and dressers, and were manned by at least two dozen Blackwood men with crossbows. They aimed their bolts out of the barricade as he approached.

“I am Ser Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock. I have come to treat with Lord Tytos.” he announced, looking straight ahead. The wagons and other furniture made the barricade at least eight feet high and it was clear that the Blackwoods were ready for a frontal assault. Can't say I blame them, he mused.

After a few moments of silence the barricade began to shift as some of the men pushed one of the wagons outward, allowing a small gap for entry on a horse. Jaime and the officer trotted through as it was swiftly shut behind him. The men stared at him with a mixture of hatred and fear in their eyes. Most of them were either young boys or very old greybeards, but a few were men of fighting age.

“You leave your weapons here. They will be returned to you upon your exit.” an officer barked at him. Jaime nodded and unbuckled his sword, offering it to one of the men at his side. After being disarmed they were allowed to continue.

Ahead Jaime saw several more barricades albeit smaller then the one he'd just passed leading right to the stone walls of Raventree Hall. As he headed down the road leading to the keep the men manning the barricades – again, a mixture of young and old – stared at him with mixtures of bewilderment, hatred or irritation at his presence.

Jaime had learned long ago to shrug off the looks, japes and insults that people directed his way. Men could bellow such names his way and they did not phase him in the slightest any longer. He was far more concerned with making a difference in the war-torn world now, more then ever. The name of Lannister meant almost nothing to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms these days, having been tarnished through the actions of his dear sweet Cersei.

Approaching the drawbridge Jaime spied dozens of men aiming their crossbows down at him from the walls. Twin banners flew gently in the mid-day wind – one being the red and black weirwood of House Blackwood and the other being the direwolf of Stark.

“I have come to treat with Lord Tytos. My weapons have been yielded at your main barricade. I demand entry.” Jaime shouted, gripping the reins on his horse tightly. A pregnant pause filled the air as he waited for a response. They would either let down the bridge or fill him with bolts. _Sometimes I think that would be a mercy,_ Jaime sighed inwardly. _Though I have to carry on. I will not quit._

A crashing sound filled the air as the bridge began to lower, the creaking of chains breaking the silence. His horse shook nervously but Jaime patted it's neck with his golden hand in an attempt to keep it calm. As the last of the bridge came down he spied a party of riders galloping rapidly towards it. _Lord Blackwood, I presume._

* * *

The Lord of Raventree Hall was a tall and thin man, with short-cropped salt and pepper hair. A beard, also carefully trimmed adorned his chin and mouth and his eyes were small and narrowed as he approached. Gently hopping down from his horse, black cape swaying in the wind he approached Jaime and the officer.

Jaime hopped down from his own horse and allowed Lord Blackwood to approach him. The man carried himself with confidence and ease, Jaime noted. The Blackwoods had always been a proud house – he'd learned their history when he was a child. They'd been feuding with House Bracken of the Riverlands for centuries – and the two sides despised one another.

Tytos Blackwood stopped a few steps from Jaime and looked him over, face immobile as stone and betraying no emotion. “Kingslayer.” he nodded.

“Lord Blackwood,” Jaime returned his gesture. “I have come to treat with you in good faith. I seek a peaceful resolution to this conflict for both of our sakes.”

The man laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “Is that so? The crown sends the great Jaime Lannister to accept my surrender. I should be honoured, Ser – but we've no way to throw a feast worthy of such an esteemed knight.” Lord Tytos spat, his voice full of contempt.

Jaime sighed, shaking his head in the negative. “I am here on behalf of Lord Emmon Frey of Riverrun -”

“The Freys are not lords of Riverrun. They will NEVER be lords of Riverrun – nor will they receive the allegiance of House Blackwood. Is that clear?” Lord Tytos growled, his hands clenching into fists as he spoke. Clearly the Freys were sore subject for the man.

“I understand your anger towards them, my lord – but you cannot hope to hold very long against them and the crown, should they decide to intervene. Now, officially King Tommen has -”

“Stow the crap, Kingslayer. We know that the boy king is dead. Your sister sits the Iron Throne now.” Tytos retorted, grinding his teeth together roughly. “So dear sweet Queen Cersei sends you to do her bidding, is that it?”

Jaime glanced to the ground, his eyes being unable to meet the intensity of Lord Blackwood's. He had lied to the man, yes – but only for a common good. If the man had been under siege how did he learn of Tommen's death? “Forgive me, my lord. I had understood that if you were under siege you may not have heard -”

Lord Blackwood raised a hand, frowning sharply. “Have heard that your dear sister blew up the Sept of Baelor? That your dear sister had not murdered hundreds of people among them Mace and Margaery Tyrell? That your dear sister had not seized power and was ruling with an iron fist? We hear more then you may think, Ser.”

“You need not remind me of what my sister did, Ser. I know...I know very well what happened.” Jaime bit the inside of his cheek, the lord's words echoing in his head. He knew that Cersei was not truly Cersei anymore – the woman he had loved had died, perhaps long ago with Joffrey...

“Yet you still serve her as blind as ever, I see.” Lord Blackwood observed, his face plastered with scorn and hatred. “Well, Kingslayer. You can run back to your sister and tell her to go fuck herself. Or maybe you can do it with that golden hand of yours.”

“I'm not here for her.” Jaime snapped, eyes glittering with anger. “I'm here to save your lives if you will just listen to me! House Tully is gone, we both know that -”

“Yes, it's gone. Because of your dear sweet father and that old turnip Walder Frey,” Lord Blackwood kicked at the dirt with a foot. “Lady Catelyn, dead. Lady Lysa, dead. Edmure – a hostage as good as dead. He surrendered Riverrun like a base coward and got Brynden Tully killed. Can you imagine? The great Blackfish Tully, cut down by foot-soldiers as if a common bandit.” the man growled. “It's a disgrace.”

“Edmure Tully is not a coward, ser. He made a decision to save his family's life. You would make the same choice if I came to you and threatened to execute your wife and children, would you not? Is an old stone castle worth your family?” Jaime retorted, his cheek bleeding from his hard bites. “Now, hear me. I come with an offer that will satisfy both parties. Will you hear me out?”

Lord Blackwood nodded cautiously.

“Thank you, Ser. Now, my offer is simple. You will acknowledge House Frey as the rulers of the Riverlands – acknowledge them, nothing more. You will not have to bend the knee or swear fealty to them. They will not occupy your castle or lands.” Jaime paused, waving his golden hand towards the walls. “Raventree will remain the domain of your House. In addition you will agree not to make war upon them or their representatives. In exchange I will write to Cersei and tell her that you have bent the knee to the Iron Throne.”

Blackwood snorted in disbelief. “You would risk your own skin by lying for us, your enemies? Do you take me for a fool, Kingslayer?”

“I have been many things in my life, Ser Blackwood. A liar, a kingslayer, a kinslayer and more. My life has been stained with the blood of friends and foes alike. I will not mince words with you or offer false explanations.” Jaime exhaled softly. “Before my time arrives I want to return some good to the world my family helped to take away.”

Another round of uncomfortable silence filled the air. Jaime took the chance to turn away and prepare to walk back towards his horse. “I will give you the night to consider my offer. I hope and pray you make the right choice, ser.”

Jaime mounted his horse and galloped away from Lord Tytos and his men, heading to collect his weapons.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell celebrates the arrival of Daenerys. Jon and Sansa sneak away in the dead of night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to some dragon and wight action! I hope you guys are still with me on this story. I love each and every comment and kudos and suggestion you make. <3 It makes me a more confident writer.

The feast thrown in honor of Daenerys's arrival lasted late into the night. She was given a place of high esteem at the table with Jon, Sansa, Arya and Bran. The various lords of the Houses who's soldiers sat in the winter town and the surrounding areas all praised her as a strong, determined woman – a true leader of men who would overthrow the wicked Queen Cersei in no time. Jon sat through the speeches and ate some of the food offered up by the servants – but his mind was leagues away.

It was on the Wall, where the Others waited for something still unknown to them. Lord Royce had sent a raven from Castle Black that'd arrived just an hour before Daenerys had saying that there was still no change in the undead army – no attacks or movement of any kind. It was almost as though they were somehow dormant, he'd noted. None the less Jon knew that they had to make for the Wall as fast as possible – and these feasts were not helping matters any.

Sansa seemed to sense his anxiety and turned to him, offering a hand for support. He squeezed it and smiled softly, her touch able to steady his nerves no matter how frayed they might be. As everyone around laughed and sang and drank to their hearts content, Jon's mind turned from the Wall to the future of the North should he survive. Announcing his parentage to the lords would likely cause an uproar that he'd be lucky to get out of unharmed, let alone with his title and prestige. He knew the North did not look kindly on Targaryens – much less so if they were secretly ruling them under the guise of a son of Eddard Stark.

“King Snow!” Daenerys nudged his hand softly. “You are quiet. Come, share a drink with me.” she smiled, raising her goblet. Jon did the same and brought his glass to hers, the wine jostling around inside as they clanked together. “Are you nervous for tomorrow?” she questioned after downing a healthy gulp.

Jon nodded as his face once more grew solemn. “I've fought these things before. We can't underestimate them, even with two dragons at our backs.”

The Queen nodded, placing her goblet back on the table. “I trust your judgment in this. You are the veteran of the North – I am merely here to provide my assistance as agreed.” She gestured with her head towards Bran and Arya. “Your brother and sisters are lovely – I am so glad that they have made it home safe.” she tried to change the conversation.

“I agree, Your Grace,” came Sansa's reply as she chose to insert herself into the conversation. “After all the horrors that have befallen our family over the years – it is nice for those of us still standing to be reunited after so long.”

Jon drank deep from his goblet in reply. “I hope you are enjoying Winterfell, Your Grace?” he smiled softly, taking in the sights in the Great Hall. It may be the last time I see them. “We are still working on restoring it as best as we can but with the Others coming I've had to prioritize.”

“I must say it is nothing like the dreary waste that most of the southern lords say it is.” she snickered.

“They're idiots anyway,” Arya grinned towards her. “No offence, since you're a southern lord now.”

The trio laughed as Jon tapped his fingers on his plate, idly picking at the chicken pieces still left on it. “We should leave at first light tomorrow, Your Grace.” he nodded to Daenerys, “We can probably cover the distance from here to The Wall in under half a day on the dragons. It'll take the Northern host a bit longer then that to march from here, however. But the Vale Knights are reinforcing the defenders at Castle Black – so we should endeavour to try and give them a hand.”

“Agreed. Is there anything I should know about this Wall? I mean, will it fall over if we land dragons on it?”

Jon shook his head, a snicker escaping his lips. “I don't think so – but no one has ever really tried. So I would suggest just sticking to the air if at all possible.”

Sansa's face grew slightly dark as Jon spoke of the morrow. Her heart raced at the thought of him leaving again...especially now that the enemy was upon them. An enemy that could overwhelm all of Westeros if they are not stopped. She had to remain brave and strong – she would be responsible for keeping everything as smooth and orderly as possible while he was gone.

Her mind continued to drift to Jon, no matter how hard she tried to change the subject of her thoughts. She should not allow a man to affect her so – but the overwhelming amount of feelings between the two had changed her entire thought process. _It was almost as if he was imprinted on my brain_ , she mused, biting into a potato. He had promised that they would wed before his departure – just the two of them before the eyes of the old gods. The northern way.

Upon his return they would announce the findings of his parentage. Sansa would then play her trump card – she would state her engagement to Jon, making him a full Stark in the eyes of the North and guaranteeing his reign would be secure. A union between House Targaryen and Stark would be a serious boon to Daenerys as well – Sansa knew the lady thought of herself as the last Targaryen.

Jon had made it clear to Sansa that he had no interest whatsoever in the Iron Throne – despite the fact that as Rhaegar's son he had a better claim to it then Daenerys did as his sister. It was decided that Jon would renounce all claims to the Iron Throne after the truth of his heritage became known. That should please the Queen, Sansa knew.

“We should flank them from both sides. I'll get the left, you the right?” Jon was saying, talking strategy with Daenerys as they both drank more wine. “Rhaegal can close the gap with his speed while Drogon uses the brute force I know he has for a boy his size.”

“Jon,” Sansa interrupted, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Will you need to destroy all of the undead army or just the Night King?” Sansa wanted him back as soon as possible. If he only had to destroy this Night King, it would make his return quick and hopefully triumphant. If not, well...

“I don't know for sure, Sansa.” he admitted, his free hand gently gliding to her hand perched on his shoulder. “Either way we'll do what we can to drive the wights back and isolate the Others – and the Night King, if possible.”

“That'll be a fucking sight,” boomed a voice from behind the high table. “Two big ass dragons roasting the dead assholes into a crisp!” Tormund shouted, stumbling over and sitting down in between Jon and Daenerys, cross legged on the floor.

“Ah, Daenerys Targaryen, this is Tormund Giantsbane. He's one of the leaders of the Free Folk – from beyond the Wall.” Jon stammered nervously.

“I've never seen a woman with white hair like that before!” Tormund belched loudly as he pointed to Daenerys. For her part the Dragon Queen laughed heartily at the drunken wildling, clearly at ease with him despite his...unpredictable nature.

“So, I gotta know, lady Targar-whatever. Since you got white hair on your head, have ya got the same curls...you know, down there?”

Jon's face went beet red as Arya and Sansa – much to her shock – began laughing hysterically at his comment. “TORMUND!” Jon admonished as he tried to push him away.

Daenerys continued to laugh, putting a hand over her mouth as her own face flushed. “I'm not going to answer that but nice try, ser!”

“I ain't no ser!” Tormund grumbled as he staggered away, stopping to scratch his bottom idly.

“Don't mind him, he's...well, Tormund.” Jon sighed, apologizing awkwardly.

Daenerys continued to giggle as she took another sip of wine. “He should have asked me after a few more drinks,” she snorted.

Jon looked over to the window and saw the gentle twinkling of the night sky. He nodded ever so softly to himself and looked towards Sansa, who was still giggling from Tormund's blunt – and inappropriate – question. He smiled gingerly, eyes glancing off to the doors behind them.

Sansa knew what he was doing. Those doors lead from the Great Hall to the library – which was still being repaired – and the godswood. She idly twirled some of her hair onto a finger as she mouthed the word “Tonight” at him.

Jon nodded as he turned his head to Daenerys, returning to their conversation.

Sansa found herself unable to finish eating due to the butterflies in her stomach. She would endure the next few hours in silence until the time was right.

* * *

Later that night the castle was asleep, with all of the lords and ladies and soldiers having gone to sleep in various wings. Only a skeleton force of less then a half dozen sentries remained awake and on watch at the outer walls.

Jon and Sansa crept hand in hand past the spare rooms – Arya slept in one while Bran and Meera slept in another – doing their best not to wake anyone with their footsteps. Even still both of their hearts raced – both out of fear and excitement. Sansa had not done this sort of thing since she was a little girl, running around the castle with Jon and Robb while their father was busy in meetings.

It was exciting to think this time was for an even more beautiful reason: Her wedding to a man of her choosing. Floor by floor and step by step they inched closer to their destination – the godswood, which sat empty and quiet in the night air. A gentle wind carried a breeze through the corridors but in their thick furs and cloaks the pair did not notice.

Finally they reached the double doors to the Great Hall – the door in the back would lead them through the corridor to the godswood in less time then trying to go around the long way. As they gently probed their way inside – one of the doors having been propped open – they found Tormund and a few of his Free Folk scattered about the hall in various poses as they snored, clearly having drunk themselves to sleep. Tankards and glasses littered the floors as the pair crept around them, Tormund having fallen asleep ontop of one of the feasting tables.

Thankfully Jon was good with his footing as he worked his way around the debris, helping to guide Sansa as he did so. They made it to the double doors and gently – ever so softly – pried one of them open, the gentle creak causing no reaction to the drunken wildlings. Jon released the breath he had held in as they slipped through.

After a few more moments of creeping they found themselves in the godswood, the wind carrying the branches of the weirwood left and right as it blew slightly stronger now. The pair walked up to the solemn face on the heart tree and smiled at one another, their hands still wrapped tightly.

“Are you ready, Sansa?” Jon whispered, leaning in to steal a kiss on her cheek as she flushed. “You don't have to do this if you don't want to. We can always wait..”

Sansa shook her head, running her free hand across Jon's cheek. “I want this, Jon. I want to marry a man I choose for once in my life.”

“Alright,” Jon smiled, placing his remaining hand on the tree as Sansa did the same. He inhaled some of the night air as he steadied himself. “Who comes before the Old Gods tonight?”

Sansa felt the pangs of nerves and excitement strike her in the stomach once more as she trembled slightly – if it was from the cold she did not know. “Sansa of the House Stark comes here to be wed. A woman grown, true-born and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who...who comes to claim her?”

Jon nodded as he felt the familiar burning of tears forming in his eyes. “Jon, of the House..House Stark. Who...who gives her?” he repeated the words.

The pair squeezed their hands together even tighter as Sansa drew a deep breath of her own. “Sansa of the House Stark. She gives herself freely.”

Jon smiled, a few droplets running down his face. “Lady Sansa, do you take this man?” As he spoke the words he removed his hand from the heart tree and Sansa saw he was trembling as well.

“I take this man.” Sansa whispered, bringing her own hand down from the tree. She wiped at Jon's tears with her thumb only as she felt herself begin to tear up at that moment. Jon chuckled faintly as his own tears returned.

“We...we did it.” Jon said, voice quiet and soft.

They kissed under the weirwood, Sansa melting into Jon's arms as their lips and tears mingled together.

_Two hearts made whole._

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr Baelish reflects on his current situation. Bran and Meera talk in the Godswood.

From his chamber in the eastern wing of the castle Petyr Baelish looked out over the courtyard, watching with some interest as the King and Dragon Queen prepared to depart. A hearty group of northmen and wildlings were there to see them off – including that red-haired wildling who always made it a habit of calling him a “cunt”. This made him chuckle as he gently tapped his hands on the wooden balcony rail. _Oh, if only you knew..._

Since the King's return he had kept out of the main chambers, avoiding contact with him or Sansa. It was for the best this way as it allowed him to work without needing to pay lip service to the bastard boy. Although even he had to admit his surprise at the King having returned with one of Daenerys Targaryen's dragons, of all things. An unexpected piece of the puzzle for him to try and solve – although one that even his mind was having problems pinpointing.

No matter, with the King returning to the battlefield at the Wall it would be Sansa's job to rule the North once again until his return. A smile crept onto Petyr's lips as he thought of her, drinking in the image of the woman who would soon be his. He'd chastised himself for being far too bold with her that day in the godswood, having allowed a moment of weakness to overtake him – that was a lapse in judgment that he of all people could not afford.

As he watched the two rulers take flight, the massive beasts letting out a unified roar that threatened to shake the foundations of the castle he strolled back into his chamber, inhaling sharply. He would have loved to spend more time around Sansa – the sight of her always set his heart racing – but alas the presence of Tormund and the four large, ugly wildling guards had deterred him. The 'Free Folk' as they called themselves were a prickly and unwavering lot, he'd found. Bribery with silver stags or gold dragons was useless as they did not use money.

Even trying to win them over with other gifts had proven fruitless. They were loyal to a fault to Jon Snow – the man who had saved them from the Others at Hardhome, they'd all said. _Loyalty is a liability in these times_ , he reflected as he took a seat at his desk, fumbling around various scrolls and parchments.

Though even he had to give the bastard king credit for his decision to give Sansa the immovable guards she had with her at all times – it was a smart play. It brought a chuckle to his lips as he thought of how the North called him 'Eddard Stark reborn' – yet the boy was proving himself brighter then his dead father.

“I wonder what you would make of all this, 'lord' Stark,” Baelish quipped to himself as he wrote. “Oh, I know you would likely not be happy. Furious, even .But alas you removed yourself from the game far too soon – no matter.” An evil grin crossed his face, “I will...take care of dear, sweet, beautiful Sansa.”

His plan now for Sansa was simple – turn the North against her. It was not his first choice certainly – he 'd hurt Sansa enough when wedding her to Ramsay Bolton – but it was a necessity now. The rumors he was spreading, the subtle and overt lies were slowly encouraging a general bitterness towards her.

_She'd had the Vale eating out of her hands yet did nothing to help the North!_ The return of Arya and Bran Stark had complicated things somewhat, but whispers only had to be put in the ears of the right northmen – not of the Stark family. He knew that it would be hard to turn sibling against sibling – but for his own amusement he'd been trying it, to see how it would work.

Once the North had turned sufficiently against her and was perhaps calling for blood she would have no choice but to run to him – and he would go from there.

* * *

He found Bran Stark in the godswood as expected – the boy was almost always here at prayer. He would always be in the same position – hand against the heart tree and his eyes rolled mysteriously back in his head. _Strange boy..._

As he approached he bowed his head. “Pardon, Lord Stark. I was not aware you were at prayer.”

The crannogwoman Meera Reed – who had served as the boy's protector and, if the servants were right, lover – rose to her feet and grasped her spear. “I know you. You're Baelish – from the Vale, right?” she asked suspiciously.

“I am, Lady Reed.” he smiled, sauntering over to a large rock and taking a seat upon it. “I enjoy the serenity of this place. It is a good place as any to...reflect upon the day.” he brushed the snow from his lap. “Though did you not wish to see your brother off? I know the King and the Dragon Queen ride for the Wall...”

“Bran said his goodbyes already, last night.” Meera stated, sitting back down next to him, leaning her spear back against the tree. “He had to come here to...to pray.” The girl kept her gaze focused on Bran.

_The poor girl,_ Baelish smothered a smile. _I once loved another like you love him – yet the happiness did not last. It never does._ “Tell me, Lady Reed – are you worried about the army massing at the Wall?”

Meera gazed at the ground with uncertainty in her eyes. “I...I think we all are. Aren't you?”

Baelish nodded, folding his hands onto his lap. “Of course. I think that a little fear is healthy, but if we allow it to overwhelm us – it is not a good thing. It makes us...irrational. After all, the Others – creatures thought gone for eight thousand years. It almost sounds surreal.”

“It's...it's not surreal to me.” croaked Bran as he removed his hand from the tree. He turned his head and inclined it towards Baelish. “Hello, Lord Baelish. Have you been here long?”

“Ah, not at all. I simply came here for some thinking and ran into the two of you.” he smiled down at the boy, who pulled himself up onto the rock Meera sat upon. “Tell me, Lord Stark – does it feel good to be home?”

As he settled in next to Meera, who wrapped her arms protectively around him he shrugged. “It does, of course. But the last...the last time I was here was when it was in ruin.” he reflected, his tone becoming quiet and sad.

“I understand – but surely you must be happy to see your sisters and half-brother again, no?

Bran nodded. “Of course, but – I just want everyone else to be here too. My father, my mother, Robb and Rickon. They deserved more then what happened to them.”

“I miss your mother a great deal too, Lord Stark. I do not know if you are aware but she and I were raised together in Riverrun. We were quite close as children growing up.” Baelish mused, his mouth growing tight and narrow. Every time he thought of sweet Catelyn Stark his emotions stirred. Even now with Sansa – who was far more cunning then her late mother – close by he still sorely missed Cat.

“I know – I remember when I was younger she mentioned you. Always said you were a fun boy to spend time with.”

Baelish smiled faintly. “Ah, we were children. Sadly that time has long passed. So, tell me – what do you make of Sansa? Your sister certainly has come into her own since she was a girl, no?”

“I always knew she would find some kind of fire inside of her,” Bran replied, slinking one of his hands around Meera's. “I'm proud of her.”

“And now with King Jon away, she will be in charge of the North. An exciting prospect for your family, no?” _I wonder if the boy will be as defiant as Arya. It seems unlikely..._

Bran responded with another shrug. “Truth be told I know my place is not to rule. I have a...different path laid out for me. Jon and Sansa are meant to rule. They deserve it.”

“Aye, they have both endured many hardships. Sansa will be a guiding and stable hand for the North especially now in such a time of crisis. She seems to enjoy it – ruling, that is. King's Landing was certainly good for her in that regard.”

“I wouldn't know,” Bran shook his head and inhaled softly, “I spent most of that time unconscious. I only know what happened afterwards.”

Baelish pursed his lips together, cautiously nodding. “Truth be told there have been...whispers from some of the other northerners and the wildlings. Something about how they feel Sansa may not wish to relinquish power to the King when he returns.” He shrugged, his face contorting into a slight frown. “I have tried to persuade them otherwise but they do not want to listen to an outsider's opinions.”

“I'll talk to them,” Bran exclaimed, his voice rising indignantly. “Sansa would never do that – ever. She trusts Jon as Arya and I do. Thank you though, Lord Baelish for the information. I appreciate your honesty.”

“I am only trying to help smooth things along for you and your family, Lord Stark. Please do not hesitate to seek me out if you need anything more.” With that, he bowed and began to trudge his way back to the east wing.

_The boy's definitely better-spoken then the wild sister, but perhaps still with a streak of that Stark naivete. Such a pity..._

* * *

Bran let out the breath he was holding in as Baelish left the godswood, his body shuddering slightly in relief. “He truly is a slimy man – just as I saw in my vision.” he whispered to Meera, who nodded.

The truth was that Bran had to fight the anger swelling in his body. The man was responsible for the death of his father – having betrayed him to Cersei Lannister in the capital. He wanted to beat him to death then and now, hanging his entrails on the weirwood as the First Men did in the ancient times. However he knew that such an action would be not only impossible given his crippled state but foolish.

Leaning over to Meera he kissed her, gently placing a hand upon her cheek as he did so. She returned the gesture, her hands resting upon his chest. “What are we going to do with him, Bran?” she replied, panting softly. “I say just have him taken care of but...Sansa says we can't.”

“He's too powerful, at least right now. We need his army.” Bran sighed, bringing his lips away from her own but keeping his hand against her cheek. She nuzzled into his touch and he felt his stomach twist from excitement. Meera's beauty was breathtaking to him – she was a perfect woman, through and through. _Brave, passionate, honourable...everything a Stark should be._

“No matter what happens Meera, I won't let anyone hurt us. You, me, Jon, Arya, or Sansa. But especially you – after everything we've endured. I love you.” Bran blushed stupidly as he spoke, his eyes glaring down at the dirt.

Meera smiled and lifted his head up with her hand by the chin. “I love you too, stupid.” she kissed him again as a gentle snow began to fall.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon Greyjoy tries to redeem himself.

Theon watched as a flaming projectile slammed into the ship next to his, sending wood and flames dancing onto the water. The sail – bearing the kraken of Greyjoy – began to drop as the ship listed, the fire spreading quickly to the upper decks. The screams of dead and dying men leaping from the ship into the water filled the air for but a few moments – before the sounds of battle resumed in his ears.

All around him Theon saw the allied Targaryen ships beset from his uncle's fleet. They launched volley after volley against them, some scoring direct hits while others bounced uselessly into the water. Since the attack had began less than an hour ago at least a third of the defending ships had been damaged or sunk. Theon, having been named the acting leader for the Greyjoy forces loyal to the Dragon Queen had been doing what he could to coordinate the ships left under his command.

As he ran from the deck to the wheel he shouted for one of the flag men. “Signal the ships to come about and head for their centre! We have to try and find the _Silence_!” His bruises ached as he zipped about the ship, but there was no time for healing. He had to do what he could to save the fleet – and more importantly, Dragonstone.

“Lord Greyjoy!” came a voice from his left. A sailor appeared, axe and shield in hand. “We should lead boarding sorties against the enemy ships! We're ready for them. Just give the order.”

As his crew launched their own projectiles at the attackers Theon bit his lip. If he refused to allow the reavers to try boarding his uncle's ships then they might take their frustrations out on him, just as they had done when Yara was taken off of Dorne. “Do it.” he commanded, waving the flagman to relay his command.

He remembered the reaction that he'd been given when the fleet had escaped from Euron's ambush – the captains had denounced him as a coward and a traitor for leaving his sister behind. They'd beaten him badly on the shores of Dragonstone – only stopping when the Unsullied intervened and separated them.

_I deserved it,_ Theon's mind raced. _I left her to him_. Their uncle was an evil and cruel man – his mind almost reminding Theon of his former master's mind. _No, not former master. He was never your master_ _you were his prisoner,_ he tried reassuring himself as another flaming projectile flew over the ship, missing it by inches.

Theon's vessel – which he'd named _Yara's Revenge_ – surged forward as the sails raced with the wind. As they went through the waters he looked this way and that for any sign of the Silence – the ship was easily recognizable from its blood red paint and display of a naked maid on its prow.

He would free her even if it meant his own death, having decided long ago. Throughout his life Theon Greyjoy had made himself a hated and reviled figure, all through actions of his own. He'd been a fool to anyone who had shown any love or compassion for him – from Eddard Stark to the various women he'd bedded – and he had committed vile acts in the name of the ironborn. But now, as the chaotic din of battle raged around him he knew that he could find some redemption here by freeing Yara.

_She's the rightful ruler of the Iron Islands, not me._ Brave, strong, proud and confident she was everything Theon was not nor would ever be again.

“We've found it!” came a voice from behind him. Theon looked to where the man's hand gestured and he saw the red-hued ship next to a Tyrell vessel, with Euron's mutes obviously sacking the nearly destroyed craft. A surge of anxiety and nerves struck Theon's heart as he tried to gather the courage needed. _What was it that Lord Eddard used to say? A man can only be brave when he's afraid? Well, My Lord – we're about to find out if that's true._

“Reavers!” Theon shouted, turning round to face the crew. “The Silence is our target – that's likely where my uncle is holding Yara. Find her at all costs and bring her here!” he commanded, drawing his sword and hosting it into the air. “What is dead may never die...”

“But rises again harder and stronger!” came the echo of reply from the crew.

* * *

 

_Yara's Revenge_ collided with the side of the Silence, the prow impacting into the hull with a thundering crash. As the wood splintered and cracked the reavers charged across the prow and onto the deck, setting themselves upon the mutes of Euron's crew with fevered attacks.

Theon rushed over to join them, his feet hitting the deck as he rushed for an access door to the lower decks. One of the mutes wielding a hand-axe charged him from the door, slashing and hacking wildly but Theon was able to parry some blows and dodge the others, quickly ramming his sword into the man's unprotected stomach.

Pulling his blade free of the dead man's stomach Theon barged down the narrow stairs of the ship and came to the lower deck which housed what passed as a mess hall and armoury. More raiders had made it to this level and were already locked in battle with the Silence's crew so Theon wormed his way passed the fighting and made for a darkened staircase at the far end of the room.

As he descended into the lightless corridor he heard a faint cry coming from a door to his left. As he pressed his ear against the locked door he heard the cry again – a man's voice this time. Theon wanted to leave the unnamed prisoner to his fate but he knew that to be Euron Greyjoy's prisoner was a fate far worse then death.

With a mighty cry he bashed his shoulder against the black door, the wood easily splintering enough for him to kick a man sized hole in it. Going through he found two cells on either side of the room with a single mute guarding them. The mute turned at the noise and drew his sword, gesturing with a sneer to Theon.

The mute lurched forward and slashed at Theon's head, the blade sailing by as he moved to the right, his shoulder impacting into the wood but saving him from a certain death or mutilation. His attacker spun to face him as Theon raised his sword, parrying the next blow.

The room was uncomfortably tight – with barely enough room for two men abreast – so Theon tried and failed to shove the mute back. As he recovered the mute struggled to swing his sword in a proper manner due to the nauseatingly close distance, so he tried to stab Theon instead.

Thankfully the man was absurdly slow with his blade so Theon was able to twist around the sword and grab hold of the man's arm, shoving it as hard as he could into the wall not once but three times. The man let out a growl of pain and dropped the sword, giving Theon the momentum he needed to land a punch to his head and send him face first into the bars of one of the cells. Theon felt as though he had lost control as he slammed the man's head again and again into the bars, the mute being reduced to a bloody pulp of bone and brain by the time he was able to regain his senses.

For every hit he made to the bars he was reminded of Ramsay and his cuts, his peeling and his other...violations. It felt as though he was punishing his tormentor through this attacker and Theon visualized Ramsay every time he bashed the man's head into the iron.

Rising to his feet Theon looked into the cage to his right and found it empty. To the left he found a figure curled up in the corner, staring at him with a puzzled expression. He recognized the man as his Uncle Aeron – the Damphair, one of the most prominent Drowned Men known to exist.

* * *

“Uncle,” Theon whispered, wrapping a hand around one of the iron bars. “I'll get you out of there. Who has the key?”

Aeron nodded to the dead sailor. Theon quickly rummaged through the man's pockets and found a red and gold key, which he shoved into the lock on the cell and released the bars with a satisfying click.

The Damphair got to his feet, brushing his robes off gently. He did not look harmed, but appeared tired – with heavy bags under his eyes. “Theon – the Drowned God gives you his favour this day.” he stated, voice still harsh and commanding as he exited the cell.

“Where's Yara?” Theon asked, sheathing his blood-coated blade back in its scabbard.

“Euron has her in his cabin.” the priest explained, stepping through the hole in the door, picking up the bottom of his robes as he did so. “I demanded that he made his intentions known, as she is our niece – and he imprisoned me. Euron Greyjoy is a liar and a blasphemer.”

Theon felt a rush of anger in his blood as his uncle spoke. “You crowned him!” he spat.

“The Kingsmoot chose him. I could not act against the will of the captains.”

Theon sighed, choosing to let the matter drop. “Fine. Where's his cabin?”

“Above us. Just past the mess hall.” the priest started up the staircase.

“Get to my ship. We've boarded – you can't miss it when you get to the fore-deck.”

Without another word the Damphair was gone, his footsteps echoing through the hall. Theon took the chance and started his way up the stairs, picking his way back to the battle-scarred mess. Bodies of mutes and ironborn reavers littered the deck as Theon heard the sounds of fighting continuing both above and around him.

Sprinting through the shattered tables and dead bodies Theon found a corridor near the stairs leading up to the fore-deck, wrapping around the side of the ship. He followed his way around, sword held out at his side and ready for any confrontations with the Silence's crew.

As he reached the end of the hall he found a large oaken door. Euron's cabin. Exhaling sharply he ran up to the door and shoved his shoulder against it with all his might.

Much to his surprise the door flew open – having been left unlocked. Inside he found Yara sitting in a chair to the right side of the room, a look of surprise on her face. “Theon?” she sputtered, rubbing her eyes in disbelief.

“It's me. Come on, we haven't got much time!” he grabbed her by the hand and began pulling her back through the ship. “I rescued Uncle Aeron - seems Euron had him thrown in the cells in the lower decks.”

“That doesn't surprise me. Listen, Theon -” Yara shouted over the sounds of battle, “Euron's insane. Truly insane. He's got a horn that he claims will let him control dragons. Found it in the ruins of Valyria, he said.”

Panic began to eat away at Theon's mind as the pair dashed out onto the fore-deck. It was practically deserted with bodies strewn this way and that. Thankfully the _Yara's Revenge_ was still buried in the side of the ship and so Theon quickly started helping Yara across.

From the look of the battle it seemed that the Iron Fleet was retreating – the Queen's forces would prevail. As Yara scampered onto the deck she quickly went for the wheel and began barking orders for the crew to break them free of the _Silence._ Theon quickly crossed the prow and settled onto the deck, his legs trembling with fear.

It was at that moment that a hideous sound consumed the battlefield. The noise sounded as though an uncountable cacophony of souls were screaming in unison. Theon – and the rest of the crew of his ship, Yara included – began to scream in pain and horror, their bones feeling as though they were lighting aflame.

This was not any pain Theon had experienced before. He fell into a foetal position, sobbing uncontrollably as his whole body burned with a sensation that was indescribable to human ears.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys arrive at the Wall.

The pair touched down at Castle Black just a few hours after departing Winterfell – the announcement of their arrival being the screeching of Drogon and Rhaegal as they crashed into the ground just outside the gate. As Jon climbed down ever so slowly from Rhaegal – Daenerys had a far easier time with Drogon – he heard the gates crash open and a host of black brothers and Vale knights came rushing out, mixtures of astonishment and horror upon their faces.

At the head of their group were Edd and Yohn Royce, who gawked at the two as they approached, dumbfounded. “I told you not to knock it down, Edd – looks like you've done a good job so far.” Jon smirked, patting him on the shoulder.

Edd stared at him, mouth agape as he seemed to struggle to find the words to use. Lord Royce was thankfully faster on the uptake as he cautiously smiled towards Jon. “Your Grace – we were told that you would be...bringing a dragon, not two dragons. I am...I am astonished.” he said, rubbing his eyes and blinking in rapid succession.

“Shall we talk in the mess hall?” Jon offered, waving to the open gate.

* * *

Once they were inside the warmth and sanctuary of the hall – Three-Finger Hobb having brought them steaming bowls of soup – Jon explained all about Daenerys and her mission and their plans for the dragons.

“I thought I would never see the day that House Targaryen rose again,” Royce chuckled quietly to himself. “And with dragons, no less.”

Daenerys offered a small smirk at his words. “Well, times do change, my lord.” She took a bit of soup and swallowed it down, “It's...interesting. What's in it?”

Edd coughed, shaking his head in the negative. “Don't ask. Please, it's better for your stomach that way.”

Jon laughed as he dug into the warm broth. It tasted far better then most of the stews and slop that Hobb used to make – though perhaps it was the heat that made his bones warm, given how the freezing wind had cut through his clothing as he soared on Rhaegal's back.

The fog was all encompassing; once they'd gotten inside of the castle he had saw how bad it was – snow blew this way and that and the white mist had obstructed almost everything within distance. Torches were set up almost everywhere, as Edd explained it was the only way for them to even see the Others.

“We've sent out scouts to determine how many there are,” Royce rose to his feet and stared out the window, his face grim. “Accordingly the ranks stretch from Greyguard in the west to Rimegate in the east. Lord Commander Tollett and I have re-garrisoned those two castles with my Knights and a few of the Watch to monitor the activities as best they can.”

Edd shrugged, slurping down another bit of soup. “Big good it'll do when they decide to wake up. There's gotta be a hundred thousand if not more of them damn wights out there alone. And that's not counting the Others and their friends.”

Jon narrowed his eyes, “Friends? What friends?”

Edd continued, forlornly, “We never saw them at Hardhome but apparently there's other beasts that they can raise from death as well. We've seen 'em all here. Wolves, bears, shadow-cats...but the worst are them fucking ice spiders. Great, big hairy monsters covered in frost.” He shivered violently.

Daenerys bit down on her lip in response, wrapping the borrowed furs she wore tighter around her lithe body. “You didn't mention undead animals, King Snow.”

Jon rubbed his hands together, blowing into them in a futile attempt to get warm. “I didn't know about any undead animals. Though I suppose if the Others can raise our dead...it makes sense they could raise the dead of other species.”

“Very well, then. Lord Commander Tollett is it? I would like to see this for myself.” Daenerys commanded, rising from the table.

“Alright. Don't say I didn't warn you though.” Edd chuckled grimly as he and Jon rose.

* * *

A few moments later they ascended the Wall via the lift winch in an uncomfortable silence. Jon closed his eyes and exhaled softly trying to steady his nerves. He knew that this day would finally come – that he would need to face down the Others for the good of Westeros – but now that the moment was upon him it was taking every bit of courage for him not to simply grab everything – Sansa included – and flee to the furthest reaches of Essos.

Daenerys grasped his hand gently and roused him from his reverie. “It will be alright, King Snow. You'll see.” she smiled at him, motioning to the skies overhead where Drogon and Rhaegal soared in circles around Castle Black.

“Yeah, the lady's right.” Edd drawled lazily, “And besides, if we die we'll get to live again anyway so it won't be so bad.”

Lord Royce was indignant. “Are you really making jokes about a situation like THIS, ser?” he protested, his teeth chattering away.

As the lift reached the top Edd pulled the cage door open and ushered everyone out. They walked along the icy paths of the Wall – which brought Jon a familiar feeling of nostalgia. He remembered manning the wall against Mance Rayder's army, of taking command of the defenses for a time. Yet as he walked along the paths he made note of some changes.

Firstly the Wall was manned in far greater numbers then Jon had ever seen – mostly Vale knights but he saw a dozen or so black brothers – rushing this way and that, some carrying arrows or other equipment. He saw that the ledges overlooking the Haunted Forest had been built up, with some being fully encircled by wood – almost resembling murder holes. Black brothers and Vale men alike stood in each ledge and gap, their bows at their sides with a barrel full of arrows for each. In addition the previous fortifications had been strengthened with more wooden platforms, and Jon took note of at least three working catapults.

_Must be nice to have this now,_ he mused bitterly. _Only takes the end of the world to get them here..._

“We have constant watch to make sure they don't take us in the ass when night falls,” Edd explained, gesturing about them. The mist from up on the Wall took on an otherworldly feel to it – as Jon noted the wavy and undulating nature. “Twenty thousand Vale men and...oh, about three hundred black brothers. We're such an army,” he added sarcastically.

“Not to worry Edd. I have twenty thousand Northern levies marching here as we speak. Soon you'll have forty thousand.” Jon smirked.

“And to think, I wanted you to take this fucking job back when all was said and done. But no, you had to go and become a King.” the Lord Commander retorted, snorting all the while.

“I hate to ask this at such a dire time, Your Grace...” Lord Royce began hesitantly, “but I must know – is the situation at Winterfell...stable?”

This caused the group to stop walking and huddle around one of the braziers. “Situation?” Jon asked, his face a myriad of confusion. “Why wouldn't it be?”

Royce scowled. “Some of the men had mentioned rumors being spread. Saying that there was resentment building against Lady Sansa – and how she wanted to keep power for herself while you were at Dragonstone.”

Jon shook his head in the negative while Daenerys raised a brow in confusion. “Is this true?” she asked.

“No, not at all. What's happening is simple, my lord – Baelish is trying to stir up trouble, yet again.” Jon growled, a frown creasing over his mouth. “He is trying to turn the North against Sansa. What he hopes to gain by this, I don't know.”

“Does he know that there's fucking undead lead by mythical monsters on his doorstep threatening to eat us all?!” Edd cried, rubbing his hands over the flame. “Twat.”

“I assumed as much. Damn him...” Royce muttered, his hands balling into fists. “The man is a menace to both the North and the Vale! Yet we can do nothing against him because of the tight control he has over Lord Arryn.”

“May we get back to the matter at hand, gentlemen?” Daenerys exclaimed, waving her hand to the edge of the Wall. “We can discuss politics some other time.”

Edd lead them to a small ledge that had been reinforced by a wooden barricade. Nodding to one of the Vale men who pulled it off to the side, the four stepped out onto the small platform overlooking the Haunted Forest.

Jon inhaled sharply at the sight before him, his breathing growing ragged with panic.

The ground below appeared to be dotted with massive globs of grey and black. A literal sea of wights stood clumped together as tightly as they could, their dead blue eyes staring up at the Wall. Row upon row of them stretched east and west as far as Jon's eyes could make out. As he looked further back into the rows of trees he saw even more blue eyes staring up at him. The grey blobs stretched through the Haunted Forest, rolling back into the horizon.

“Here.” Edd handed him a small lens which Jon peered into. “Follow the treeline,” he instructed.

As he searched through the seemingly endless army Jon saw the animals that Edd had mentioned among the dead. There were wolves missing chunks of their head and bodies, bears with huge clumps of rotting flesh hanging off of their backs and shadow-cats with bones jutting out of their stomachs. All of their eyes were blue – just as the wights.

Jon found his target after a few moments of searching. It was then he saw the first of the ice spiders.

They were massive, towering beasts – with the largest being as tall and as wide as two or three humans standing on each others shoulders. The smallest were about the size of an adult dog. Frost and ice shards hung off their white bodies, their arachnid eyes glancing every which way. Jon saw next to the largest of the creatures stood an Other, clad in their black armour holding onto what appeared to be a whip.

It was in this row of ice spiders that Jon saw it.The Night King, the ring of ice shards around its head sticking up like a twisted crown. Much to his amazement he saw that the Other held what looked like a ghost of a smirk on it's twisted face.

Taking his eye down from the lens he passed it to Daenerys who'd crossed her arms, mouth open and her face a mixture of awe and terror. “By all the gods...” she whispered, her voice trembling and hoarse.

“Aye. This is just the beginning.”

* * *

Later in the evening as the sun began to creep down through the obscured and misty treeline Jon found Daenerys at the top of the Wall once more, staring out over the endless horde.

“Are you alright, Your Grace?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on the small of her back in an attempt at comfort. She responded to his touch by closing her eyes, sighing audibly.

“How...how can one be alright when that is what we face, King Snow?” she mumbled, her tone almost child-like, “I had heard tales of the Long Night from the books in Dragonstone...but I never imagined that it would be like this.”

Jon walked up to her side and smiled sadly at her. “I don't think any of us could imagine the enormity of this.” A lie; the truth was that Jon had expected the vast and endless armies of the Others to come pouring into Westeros at any time – he was only surprised that they had taken this long.

“I...I was foolish for not believing the enormity of the situation.” she exhaled sharply, looking to him. “And you say that for every man who dies...they gain another wight?”

“Aye.” Flashes of the massacre at Hardhome filled Jon's mind again.

“Where...where do they come from?” she asked, the fear palpable on her face.

“No one knows. They first appeared a few thousand years after the First Men came to Westeros.” Jon shivered slightly as he tried to recall his lessons from Maester Lewin. “What are known would be the tales of the Long Night – eight thousand years ago the Others came from the Land of Always Winter, far to the North. They brought with them a winter that lasted an entire generation. Children were born, lived and died without knowing the sun.”

Jon bit down on his lower lip, “No one could stop them. They had consumed almost all of Westeros – swarming the ring forts of the First Men, villages, you name it. The worst part was the dead...who did not rest. They simply got back up and started killing their former friends and loved ones.”

“How...how did they stop them?” Daenerys's eyes twinkled as she seemed to hang onto every word of Jon's story.

“The legends speak of the 'last hero' – a man who went deep into the consumed wastes and found the Children of the Forest. You've heard of them, yes?” After she nodded her affirmation, he continued.

“They found out that dragonglass – obsidian – was strong enough to kill the Others. So, with the Children as allies the First Men were finally able to drive the Others back. Their biggest defeated was at the Battle for the Dawn, as it was called – where the first of the Night's Watch battled against the Others.

Through some miracle they defeated them and drove them back into the Lands of Always Winter. It was those events that caused the Wall to be built.” Jon closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

Daenerys nodded as he finished the story. “Well...perhaps we shall be the last heroes of this dawn.”

“I hope it doesn't come to that, Your Grace. But...I've always been ready to accept fate.”

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime receives Lord Blackwood's answer.

“Do ya think he'll take your offer?” Bronn japed idly as he reclined in the chair set up inside Jaime's tent.

Jaime sighed, fiddling with the straps on his armor. After some effort he managed to get them undone and pulled the breastplate off, letting it fall to the ground. Finally, I can breathe. He'd be wearing the damn thing as the army marched up and down the Riverlands – from The Twins to King's Landing, then from King's Landing to Riverrun – and it was frankly exhausting.

“I hope so,” he nodded, biting gently on his lower lip. By morning he expected to hear Lord Blackwood's answer. The truth was that Jaime was nervous – very nervous. If he accepted then it would be a great relief – not just to the castle and those inside it – but to him as well. He had a total of a thousand men with him; if they refused, he would have to try and besiege Raventree...or risk calling in the Freys, which he did not want to do.   
  


“Well, ya gave him pretty good odds. I'd say if the old boy has a brain he'll take 'em.” Bronn shrugged. “Then again ya can never tell with these river lords, eh?”

“They were all part of the Kingdom of the North. They're just as proud as the Northerners are.” Jaime crashed down into the other chair beside Bronn. “I'm just...trying to help them realize that they can't hope to hold out any longer. But I'll be damned if I make 'em swear allegiance to my sister or those vile Freys.”

Jaime had been plagued by nightmares of Cersei since leaving the crownlands. In his dreams he would be back in the Red Keep during Aerys's day, watching as people were brought into the throne room and burnt – just as the Mad King loved to see. But then the images would change. It would not be the Mad King atop the Iron Throne – but Cersei. And she would laugh and laugh as wildfire engulfed all around them.

“And here I thought you could never change,” Bronn replied with a grin.

Jaime sighed, hanging his head low. Every deed he'd done, every crime he had committed – it was all laid bare before him. He had justified it all as being in the name of protecting the Lannisters, protecting Cersei – living up to their father's legacy. But now, what was there?

_Nothing, that's what. All for a mad bitch..._

“I guess you can call it an epiphany. When I saw what she'd done to the Sept – and all of those people...” he mumbled, running his good hand through his hair, “I watched what had been my sister die and saw another Aerys Targaryen born. And the dreams...”

Bronn's face took on a surprisingly sympathetic tone. “You're doing the right thing now. That's what matters.”

He had resolved to end the chaos in the Riverlands and fufill his promise to Edmure Tully. Once that was finished for once in his life, Jaime did not know what came next. He had always tried to think one step ahead of everyone and everything else, but his brain was clouded with a mixture of emotion – fear, anger, anxiety, sadness.

“I...I think this is how Tyrion felt when he watched Shae testify against him.” Jaime mused out loud. “Maybe that's why he did what he did.”

Bronn shrugged. “Well, he's Hand of the Queen for that Targaryen woman. Could always go ask him.” he chuckled idly.

Jaime laughed, a sad and forlorn sound. “That would go oh so well. 'Hello Tyrion, nice to see you again. I'm here to give myself to your Queen, the one who's father I murdered. Want my head now or later?'”

Bronn got to his feet and patted his back softly. “Get some sleep, ya look like shit. Big day tomorrow.” he mused as he sauntered out of the tent.

Jaime decided that he would take the man's advice. Going for his furs he crawled onto what made up his bed and was asleep in moments, the last coherent thoughts in his head were of Cersei and her wildfire.

* * *

The next morning Jaime rode to the first barricade leading to Raventree. He and Bronn waited atop their horses for Lord Blackwood's arrival – he had promised to meet them outside of the castle to announce his answer. The soldiers at the barricade continued to watch them both with distrust, as if they were expecting an ambush at any moment. Jaime understood their concerns – if he had been the man he was a few years ago, he likely would have ambushed them – but he'd no intention of double-crossing. _Of course, who would believe a kingslayer?_

As the gentle sound of birdsong filled the air Jaime heard a clamour behind the barricade. He turned his gaze to Bronn and nodded. After a moment the carts began to shift as they were moved to the side opening up a small pathway. From atop his horse he could see Lord Blackwood's convoy approaching fast – the man had an honour guard of about a dozen riders. Exhaling softly Jaime imagined himself as a boy back in the ramparts of Casterly Rock.

Tytos Blackwood marched out of the barricade, having decided to travel on foot. The man's face betrayed no emotion as he walked up to the pair's horses.

Jaime hopped down from his own and stepped forward to meet him. “Lord Blackwood. I have given you the night as I vowed to think about my offer. What say you?” His stomach felt as though it were made of worms; the anxiety and tension was palpable in the air as the elder man's brown eyes bored into Jaime's own.

Blackwood gritted his teeth together as he spat into the ground to his left. “For the sake of my family, my House and my people...I accept.” The words were said almost as though they caused him physical pain.

A wave of relief swept over Jaime's body. “Thank you, Lord Blackwood. You've made the right decision. I promise you of that.”

“One thing,” Blackwood snapped, folding his arms over his chest. “I need one thing from you to prove to me that the Freys will honour their end of the bargain.” He paused, sighing softly as his eyes glanced to the ground.

“My son, Lucas. Second-born of my family. He was part of Robb Stark's honour guard who went to the Twins for the wedding. I would see his bones returned to me so that I can bury him with our ancestors as a true Blackwood deserves, not to rot in a mass grave on the banks of the Trident.”

Jaime nodded. The death of a child was always something that hung like a pallor over a family – _I should know, I've lost all three of mine._ “You have my word, Lord Blackwood. I will see your son's bones returned to Raventree with all haste and respect.”

“You have my thanks, Kingslayer.” he replied, nodding curtly as he turned about. Jaime saw the conflict upon his face.

“My Lord!” he called, stopping the man before he could leave, “You did the right thing. I know it doesn't seem such now but...just wait and see. I promise things will get better for you and your family.” he smiled.

“We will see, Kingslayer. We will see.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Arya plot Baelish's downfall. Winterfell gets some visitors.

Sansa watched from the battlements of Winterfell as the northern host marched past on their way to the Wall. Twenty thousand men – most of them foot-soldiers with spears, swords or bow and arrow. There were some horse as well – lightly armored troops who were lightning quick on the battlefield and those with heavy plate, mounted on large and armored warhorses – they were death on hooves to any fool to get caught in their wake.

Sansa watched as their banners fluttered in the wind. She saw many different flags and colours aside from her own direwolf of Stark; she saw the gloved fist of House Glover, the merman of Manderly, the pine-trees of Tallheart, the battle-axe of Cerwyn, the red horse of Ryswell, the crown and battle axes of Dustin, the red-eagle of Condon, the bear of Mormont, the gold chequey of Mazin, the moose of Hornwood and many others she could not name.

The major lords had mostly appointed their own generals to lead but a few of them rode into battle alongside the army. As they passed on horseback they bowed their heads to Sansa as she watched. At her side was Ghost, who she reached down to pet softly as he stared out at the host with his red eyes.

 _He is all I have of Jon until this is over,_ her mind reminded her. As the last of the mounted forces rode past her mind turned to him – her husband, sworn before a heart tree. It was almost bittersweet for her that they had married the night before he left.

She was confident that he would return – he always came back to her.

People lie – that was a universal truth Sansa had come to accept, bitterly from her time in King's Landing. From the lie of her father being spared to the lie of her marrying Loras Tyrell, to the lie that Petyr would take her home. But Jon was different, somehow – _perhaps because he has been beyond this life._

“There you are!” came Arya's voice as she rushed up the stone stairs, moving to Sansa's left side. “I've been looking for you.”

Sansa nodded, “Sorry – I've been watching the army go by. As leader until the King returns I need to be seen – to let them know that we are confident in their victory.”

Arya shrugged casually. “They've got two dragons at the Wall already. I'm sure there will be no problems with winning, Sans. Jon knows what he's doing.”

“I know, Arya.” Sansa sighed, gripping the stone in front of her tightly. She had to remain strong. She could not show weakness else it consume her. “I...” she struggled to find the words, but they would not come.

“It's ok, Sans. I know you miss him. I do too.” she sighed, gently squeezing Sansa's hand in her own.

Sansa squeezed her eyes together, trying to hide the hot tears that threatened to spill from them. It was not fair that he had to leave – it was not fair that she had to go without him a second longer. _Jon is a fighter_ , she reflected almost bitterly, _he knows what he has to do._

As Arya released her hand Sansa felt a small sheaf of paper had been placed into it. Curiously she turned to Arya to ask her about it – but she was gone. Startled, she looked about the ramparts where she and Ghost stood. Nothing.

Opening the paper carefully Sansa took in the contents:

_Meet me in the dungeons. More information on our friend._

A gentle smirk flashed over her face as she crumpled the note and stuffed it into her dress pocket. “Come, Ghost. We'd best get out of this cold.” she motioned as the direwolf followed after her obediently, her long legs carrying her gently down the steps.

Her Free Folk guards formed a square around her as she walked through the courtyard. She'd come to rely on them a great deal – with them always at her side, despite their smells of ale and worse she knew that Baelish or his people could not – or would not – dare to get close. A glare from any one of the hulking beards would send most servants scurrying away in fear.

As she reached the stairs to the dungeons Sansa braced herself mentally, inhaling quickly. Tagvald, one of her guards looked to her worriedly. “Are you alright, Sansa?” he asked, his voice gruff and quiet. “Do you want us to go ahead of you?”

“No, it's fine.” she reassured him, patting his arm – covered in furs and leather. She opened the doors and proceeded downward, her guards following behind in a single file line. She heard the door close behind her – one of her guards, no doubt – as she quickly descended the winding steps.

The stairs came to an end rather abruptly and revealed the dungeons – a dark and cold room with cages and other restraining devices scattered about.

“I'm here.” she announced. Once she would have been terrified of the darkness but now Sansa realized that darkness was her best friend when it came to secrets.

Arya's torch illuminated as she stepped out of a corner, a grin upon her face. “I've been sneaking around his chambers during the day when he's not there,” she began, pulling a stash of scrolls from her tunic belt.

“Wait, Arya.” Sansa raised a hand. She turned to her guards and nodded to each corner. “One of you at each corner, please. I don't want any prying eyes to find us here.” As her guards dispersed, her gaze returned forward. “You were saying?”

“I've found some correspondence that I think is worth going over.” she smirked, unfurling one of the scrolls and handing it to Sansa. “Take a look.”

Sansa glanced at the scroll and began reading:

> _Lord Royce,_
> 
>  
> 
> _I can assure you that the rumors emerging out of Winterfell are not true. Lady Sansa has the situation firmly – and securely – in hand. Those who say that she is unfit for leadership of the North are merely trying to sew division in the ranks. I myself have heard lies just like it – that she is attempting to usurp the Throne while King Jon is away, or that she will refuse to yield power back when the Others have been dealt with._
> 
> _There is no question of her loyalty to the North. I would urge you to inform your men that these rumors will not be tolerated._
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Petyr Baelish_
> 
> _Lord-Paramount of the Vale_

Sansa studied the letter close. “He is trying to plant the seeds of doubt in Lord Royce's mind.” she nodded to herself, placing the letter back onto the table. “Clever, Petyr...very clever.”

“That's not the worst of it. Here, read this one.” Arya held out another scroll.

Sansa took it and glanced it over. It was once again from Baelish to Lord Glover of Deepwood Motte; in it the letter spoke of the 'unfortunate rumors' that were being 'spread by malicious and bitter parties' regarding her “He makes mention of other Northern houses writing about these rumors.” Sansa clenched her teeth in anger. “Glovers, Mazins, Cerwyns, Ryswells...all of them are now doubting my commitment to the North.”

“He must be having his people spread them outside of Winterfell.” Arya grumbled, pounding a hand on the table. “I just can't figure out what it serves for him to do -”

“So I will go to him.” Sansa interrupted, placing the scroll back with the others. “As I said he is trying to isolate me from the rest of the northern houses while Jon is away – as it was when he left for Dragonstone.”

Of course Baelish did not know that Sansa was aware of his role in her father's betrayal and death – he was not counting on Bran's green sight. Even still they could not simply confront him with evidence found in a vision – they would need more.

“We need to find something tying him to what happened to Father in King's Landing. If we can prove to the North that it was he who was responsible for Father's death – it would destroy his reputation both here and in the Vale.” she smiled tightly, nodding to herself.

Arya bit down on her lip and nodded, “It's a solid plan. But how? I went through his chambers as best I could. I didn't find anything about Father there.”

Sansa nodded. She knew it would be difficult to find anything connecting Baelish to it, but given how he was trying to destabilize the North even now in a time of such crisis, they had to try. “Just keep looking. Anything else comes up, you know how to reach me.” she smirked.

As she started up the stairs Sansa bit her cheek, the anger swelling inside her. Ever since Bran's revelation about Petyr she had wanted him dead. It took every ounce of strength inside of her to maintain her careful facade when he was near. _We'll find something – I am dear Petyr's only weakness._

“Lady Stark!” a voice called out as she got to the top of the stairs. “There's a group of men at the gates wanting an audience. They say they've come north to fight the Others.” the guard informed her.

_Why would anyone want to fight them? Especially those not from here?_

“I'll meet their leader in the Great Hall.” she commanded and started working her way there, her mind more full of questions then it was before.

As Sansa took her seat in the Hall – briefly glancing at Jon's vacant Lord's Chair – she motioned for the guard to send in the leader of this mysterious 'group'. She placed her hands on the top of the table, putting on her best official face as Lady of Winterfell.

* * *

The two men who entered were an odd pair; one man was ragged and unkempt, a piece of cloth covering one eye. The other man wore a set of rusty chain mail over a boiled leather coat and pants, his hair tied back into a bun and a great beard covering his face. Both of them bowed as they caught sight of Sansa.

“M'lady Stark, thank you so much for meeting with us.” the one-eyed man stated respectfully, “I am Beric Dondarrion, formerly Lord of Blackhaven.” This struck Sansa as odd – House Dondarrion was a vassal house of the Baratheons – why would their former lord be in the North?

“I am pleased to meet you, Lord Dondarrion. I must say, you are a long way from home.”

Berric laughed slightly as he coughed into his hand. “Aye, we are. Truth is, I haven't been back home in years.” He sighed listlessly, looking to the bearded man at his right.

“And I am Thoros of Myr, Lady Sansa. I knew your father Eddard Stark well – he was a good man and the world is lessened without him.” he bowed to her, smiling.

Sansa knew that name. Her father had spoken of this Thoros on many an occasion – how he was a fearsome warrior who had been the first through the breach at the Siege of Castle Pyke during the Greyjoy Rebellions, charging through screaming with his flaming sword. “My father did speak of you, Thoros of Myr. Your exploits were legendary even here in the North. Although I am pleased to meet both of you – I am curious as to the reason for your visit. You claim to have come seeking to battle the Others?”

Beric nodded, his face grim. “We – that is to say, the group we belong to – call ourselves the brotherhood without banners. We've spent the last few years in the Riverlands, fighting against the Freys and their lackeys. Trying to help the common folk as best as we can survive the fighting and terror of the wars.” He let out a harsh and wheezy breath, “but now there are cold winds rising in the North – the Others. They are the only enemy that matter now, and we both know that if they are not stopped, Westeros will be plunged into an age of eternal darkness.”

“My friend Beric speaks true. The Lord of Light has granted me a vision of the Others and their unholy army.” Thoros shuddered, his face grim.

 _A red priest,_ Sansa's mind realized. Her face hardened as she glared towards him. “You're a Red Priest. We had one at Winterfell not long ago in fact. She was exiled from the North under pain of death.”

Thoros narrowed her eyes, a confused look appearing on his face. “Do you recall what she looked like? Why she was exiled, if I may ask?”

“She burned a child alive as a sacrifice.” Sansa stated plainly. It was satisfying for her to see a horrified look come over Thoros's face.

“That...that is not something I have ever done, my lady. Nor would I – the Lord prohibits any such activity as an abomination. Whoever this woman was...she will earn a just punishment in the end.” he sighed, looking to Beric with a worried expression.

“Melisandre did not seem to think so.” she retorted.

“The Red Woman?” Thoros gaped as one of his hands began to twitch uncomfortably. “She was here? She...she did this?”

“Yes. I would much rather have hung her and been done with it but King Jon saw fit to exile her instead.” Sansa smoothed out the front of her dress.

“Please, Lady Sansa. We have not come here to preach or convert anyone. We merely are asking if possible for supplies before we make for Castle Black. A place to lay our heads for the night, perhaps. That is all.” Beric pleaded, panting harshly. “There are two dozen of us at most. We will not take up much space.”

Sansa should by all rights turn them away. Banish them south so they can worship their fire god away from the North. But at a time like this there was always a need for those willing to fight the Others. Especially given how unnervingly close they were to home. “Very well, Lord Beric. But I warn you and your friend – if you attempt to preach or convert anyone I will not hesitate to throw you out of the castle with nothing. Are we clear?”

After both men nodded, Sansa rose from her chair. “Then I give you and your men leave of Winterfell. Resupply with food, weapons, armor – whatever you may need.” Sansa followed them outside as they left the hall, coming to rest outside in the courtyard as the few wagon-loads of men and supplies were brought in.

The 'brotherhood' was made up of men, mostly in leather or boiled hide – a few wore bits of chain mail. They had crude weapons such as bows or axes and many looked as though they had been avoiding civilization for some time – given how heavily bearded and wild their hair was.

“Well, it looks like the little bird made it out of her cage.”

Sansa heard the voice coming from the men in one of the wagons. It sounded eerily familiar to her, and so she studied it as the horses pulled it in. It sounded almost like someone was mocking the voice of the Hound, who she had known from her time in King's Landing. He was a brute, but was always kind to her – so he was one of the few people she thought fondly of.

But it was not a mockery and Sansa's eyes widened as she watched Sandor Clegane himself step down from the wagon, a lazy grin upon his face.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Euron takes control of a dragon. Somewhat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my interpretation of the dragon horn from the books that Euron has - my mind has it that since he doesn't have any Valyrian blood it would be more difficult for him to control a dragon even with the help of the horn. Hope you all enjoy!

As the echo from the Horn blasted over the waters Euron could do nothing but laugh. The sound was almost melodic to his ears – the mainstay of the reason for his assault on Dragonstone. He'd quickly launched one of the rowboats off the _Silence_ just as the attack began, slipping away with the horn and three of his mutes.

He felt a small tinge of regret as he watched the _Silence_ – _it was a good ship and served me well,_ he mused. _But a ship is nothing compared to a dragon!_

Next to him the mutes who manned the rowboat cringed as the Horn's mournful sound continued to wail outwards; it was said the sound of a dragon horn being blown was the equivalent to setting a person's bones on fire from the inside. However to Euron the sound was almost orgasmic in quality.

The mute who'd blown the horn recoiled backwards, his lips searing as he began gasping for breath. Grabbing for his knife Euron sliced the man's throat and pushed the limp corpse into the water. He was prepared for this, having tested the horn's fatal properties on several of his other crew. From what he could discover the glyphs emblazoned on the sides of the horn spelled out what happened to those who had attempted to blow it:

_I am Dragonbinder,_

_No mortal man should sound me and live_

_Blood for fire, fire for blood_

This was a risk and Euron knew it. He knew that the copious amounts of wildfire given to him by Queen Cersei was not all actual wildfire – with at least half, if not more being nothing more then water coloured with green dye. _Clever woman,_ he snickered to himself as he ran a hand over the warm red ridges of the horn. Still he went for the dragon horn was worth more then ten thousand barrels of wildfire.

Looking to the sky Euron saw his prize – one of the dragons was flying in low to the water, its massive wings gliding it past the battling ships with ease. _That's it, come to daddy..._

The beast came crashing to a halt just above Euron's rowboat, the golden scales reflecting off the water. It hovered in the air and peered down at him expectantly. Euron gleefully got to his feet and gestured to it. “Let me ride you, dragon of old.” he commanded firmly – and much to his surprise the beast lowered it's head far enough for him to get a firm grasp upon it's neck, the scales easily able to support his weight.

Euron climbed atop the beast, settling himself in behind it's neck. Gripping tightly to the body he began to laugh once more; the sound harsh and maniacal. He had done it – the horn, the dragon – it was all his and soon the Seven Kingdoms would belong to him as well.

Leaning down to grasp the horn that the mutes passed to him, he grasped a pair of chains he'd kept wrapped around his chest and lashed the six-foot long horn to his back. Euron leaned into the beast's body and whispered, “Dracarys” - the Valyrian word for 'dragonfire' – and watched as the rowboat and the two mutes were roasted alive in a gout of flame.

They had all laughed at him when he had begun to study High Valyrian and it's mysterious properties. _The Ironborn did not read,_ his brother admonished. _We raid and plunder!_ They had continued laughing when he vowed to sail to old Valyria itself – a cursed land with nothing but Stone Men and death awaiting those who travelled there.

They had stopped laughing when he returned, alive and sane. Of course, the things he'd found in Valyria...those things were kept hidden away for a reason. “Rain death on our enemies! Dracarys!” he roared as the dragon took off, soaring over the water and belching out red hot death on every vessel – either friend or foe – in its way.

_Have to work on that,_ Euron chuckled. _Can't have my new friend here destroying all of my ships._

* * *

 

“Make for Dragonstone!” he commanded, the beast flying sharply to the right, incinerating an unfortunate Martell ship that sat in it's path. As he looked back he saw the Iron Fleet retreating – just as planned – and continued his push towards the fortress. As the dragon flew closer and closer to the obsidian ramparts Euron barked for it to stop.

“Dracarys!” he shouted once more as the flames consumed some of the onlookers – mostly those Unsullied soldiers that the Targaryen girl had at her disposal – while servants and other soldiers ran in disbelief and fear. _They never expected their Queen's dragon to turn on them, did they? Ha ha ha..._

“To the top of the fortress! Go!” he shouted as the beast took off again, soaring to the tallest peak of Dragonstone and coming to rest atop the walls overlooking the rest of the castle. Looking down below Euron watched the battle as the last of the Iron Fleet retreated beyond the water line. The beachhead was a waste of wrecked and inflamed ships.

Under him the beast stirred restlessly, flapping its wings in an agitated manner. “Easy, easy...” he whispered, trying to soothe its actions. _It must be trying to resist the Horn...ah well._ Abruptly the dragon took off, dropping as fast as it could towards the ground. Euron cursed as he tried to regain control, shouting at the beast to pull itself up as loudly as he could.

He smacked the scales under him in a panic, the wind causing him to wobble atop the beast as it plunged closer and closer towards the sand. “UP! PULL UP!” he screamed, punching the beast in the side as he did so. That got the beast's attention as it cried out, correcting itself and soaring back up into the sky – just a few feet from the beach.

“Thank you!” Euron grumbled, panting harshly. “To King's Landing. NOW!” he shouted, giving it another punch to the side. It seemed that in order to have a semblance of control he would need to cause pain to the beast from time to time. Of course, a punch was almost nothing to a dragon – given that their scales were like armor and his hand ached horribly from the blows – but he did have a wid variety of weapons at his disposal.

As the dragon soared away to the north, heading over the fields of the Stormlands, Euron began to laugh again.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys plan their attack on the Others. Daenerys has a problem only she can solve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Masturbation near the end of this story. TURN BACK NOW IF YE HATE SMUT 
> 
> So I hope my ravens about Davos and Brienne coming back made sense. Travel time in Westeros is never really explained properly by Martin or D&D so I kind of just had to extrapolate based on my own theories about it. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy! The fight against the Others will be coming soooooon~

“The plan is simple but effective,” Jon pointed to the map on the table in front of him. “Queen Daenerys will take her dragon to Eastwatch and begin attacking the wights from there. I will take Rhaegal to Rimegate and attack the wights there. Once we've cleared the flanks then we'll regroup and begin our assault on the Night King.”

Edd nodded, gulping down his mug of ale. “Lot could go wrong,” he shrugged. “I'm not a smart man compared to all of you lot here but if the Others have a way to hurt the dragons – we're fucked.”

Daenerys tapped her fingers on the table, pointing to Castle Black. “And what if the Night King attacks Castle Black while we're attacking his flank? I'm sure even the Wall can't stand against the whole army of the dead if they charge at once.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “And your Lord Commander is right, King Snow. If they can hurt my children then...”

“..Then it's over before it begins.” Jon retorted, exhaling. “but it's a risk we have to take if we're going to have any chance at driving them back. Now I have no doubt the Others are going to attack the Wall while we're gone – so Lord Royce, Edd – I'll need you to throw everything you've got at 'em and hold.”

“That won't be a problem, Your Grace.” Lord Royce nodded from his place by the window. “My men are ready. We have been ready since arriving here.”

Jon sighed, collapsing into the chair. The four had been planning strategy for the better part of the day and into the evening. It was clear that this plan was about the only thing they could do in order to strike the Others and keep them from overrunning the Wall. “Let's...let's break for an hour and clear our heads. We can finish preparations then.”

As Edd and Lord Royce filed out of the room, Daenerys turned to Jon and sat next to him. “You're worried.” she noted, patting her hand against his.

Jon's skin prickled as he felt the heat radiating from her. Even here, at the edge of the world this woman was still warm. Must be the dragon blood, he chuckled to himself. “Of course I am.” he admitted, looking to the floor. “A lot could go wrong, as Edd was saying. And even for all the strength of the dragons, they aren't invulnerable are they?”

“You're right. They aren't.” she nodded in agreement. “But their scales and skin are strong and able to withstand all but the most powerful of blows. Drogon can incinerate a larger area then Rhaegal – so you will need to go at a slower pace – which means be careful.” she smirked, patting his hand once again.

“I wanted to ask you,” Jon questioned, “is there a way to make up a saddle or something for them? So that I don't have to worry about...you know, falling off? I don't fancy plunging to my death in the middle of the battle.” he snickered, reaching for a mug.

That got a laugh out of Daenerys also – her soft giggle radiating throughout the room. “I'd never really used one with Drogon myself but I know the Targaryens of old would use saddles of a sort. Maybe we can make one up for you?”

“I should be alright as long as I hang on. Rhaegal...he doesn't seem to buck or try to toss me off as I thought he would.” Jon said quietly, sipping down the ale in his mug. “I'm still a bit confused by the whole thing.” The truth of course was that due to Jon's Targaryen heritage – he being the son of Daenerys's brother Rhaegar – he was naturally better suited for training or riding dragons.

Jon was tempted to tell Daenerys about the vision he had been shown – but knew that without any physical proof she would not believe him. _Even when I do get proof I shouldn't say anything._ The less people knew of his true heritage the better.

Daenerys walked over to the window and peered out over the courtyard. “In truth I am as well. Normally, only those of Targaryen heritage – significant heritage, it's said – are able to ride or train dragons. Though, I suppose there is so much we don't know about them..”

“I wouldn't worry too much. You're their mother – and when we've defeated the Others he's yours. I have no desire to have a dragon companion longer then I have to.” Jon shrugged, gulping down the last of the ale. “I didn't even want to take Rhaegal but..”

“..but you needed to find a way to get me up North.” she smirked, turning back around to face him. “Congratulations, King Snow – it worked, just as I said. But remember our agreement...you have a debt owed to me that I can call upon anytime.”

Jon nodded. “I accept that as the price of your aid. I just hope you use this...personal debt wisely.” Rising to his feet he nodded to her, “I need to fi -” A knock at the door interrupted his sentence.

“Who is it?” Jon commanded.

“It's me,” came the muffled voice of Edd. “Got a raven from Winterfell for you.”

Jon opened the door and took the scroll in Edd's hand. Unfurling it he began to read:

> _Jon,_
> 
> _I hope this letter finds you well, my husband. Gods it feels strange to say and write that, does it not?_
> 
> _I want you to know that I miss you every day of your absence. My heart grows heavy every time I climb into bed and you are not there with me. Your scent, your touch – your smile. But I know why you must go, and I am fully committed to our cause._
> 
> _I wanted to bring you up to date on some matters here in the castle. First, Ser Davos and Brienne have both returned safe. They both send regards to you and hope that you are victorious over the Others and their army._
> 
> _Second, the northern host passed Winterfell not three days ago. They should be arriving at the Wall within one week, if not slightly later. Twenty thousand men from over a dozen houses. Only you could accomplish such an act, Jon – and you wonder why I did not want you to name me Queen._
> 
> _Bran and Arya are doing well and send their love. Arya is keeping busy helping to train the Free Folk while Bran and Meera are...doing whatever Bran and Meera do._
> 
> _Also, you should know that the Hound has arrived in Winterfell. He is apparently part of a group calling themselves 'the brotherhood without banners'. They are on their way North – or will be – to fight the Others. Truth be told, they are a motley gang of some two dozen men lead by a former lord and a red priest. However, I trust your judgment that all are needed for this fight._
> 
> _And lastly, Lord Baelish. The snake is still trying to turn the North against me so that I am forced to ask him for aid. Arya and I are working night and day to find a way to expose him for what he is – a vulture and a traitor to our House. Tormund is also helping to dispel any of the 'rumours' that continue to emerge although there are those questioning my loyalty from other houses now also._
> 
> _It is frustrating, my love. But I am enduring. For you, and for us._
> 
> _I know you will return to Winterfell safe. I will be waiting for you with open arms._
> 
> _All of my love,_
> 
> _your wife, Sansa Stark_
> 
>  

Jon smiled and placed the letter into his pocket. “Thanks, Edd.” he nodded, patting his friend on the shoulder. Turning back he returned to his seat in the room, Daenerys's questioning look appraising him the whole time.

“Good news, I hope?”

Jon nodded, the smile still present on his face. “Aye. An update from Sansa – everything is going smoothly at the castle. The northern levies should be arriving in a few weeks time and Ser Davos made it safely back home.”

“Good, I am glad your man made it back safe.” she smiled, running her hand along the table, “He was very brave the day I seized him. You had awoken the dragon with me, King Snow – but I was able to restrain myself long enough to hear his counsel. He is wise, your Onion Knight.”

Jon smirked, shooting a wink towards her. “I only conspire to steal from the best with the best.” He was still slightly confused by something mentioned in the letter – that Sandor Clegane of all people would be coming to fight the Others. Why would an outlaw group be coming to fight against the army of the dead? It made utterly no sense to Jon, but it didn't matter – he would ask them when they made to the Wall.

“Shall we resume our talk, King Snow?” Daenerys took her seat.

Jon nodded. He supposed they had a lot to plan out, after all.

* * *

Later that night Daenerys tossed and turned in bed – having been given use of the Lord Commander's quarters – rather insistently – by Edd and Jon. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips as she sat up, pushing her back against the wall. Her mind refused to rest or calm down enough for her body to rest.

She thought, certainly of the army of the dead – of the Others and their Night King, staring malevolently from the Haunted Forest. Of the endless numbers of their dead, men and beast alike. Of the massive ice spiders they had brought with them.

But it was not the only thing on her mind, she found. The thing on her mind that was frustrating her attempts at sleep was Jon himself. Why? Why should he be in my thoughts so? Every time she would try to sleep her visions would consist of flashes of the dead before they would be melted in fire – only to be replaced by Jon's face.

He was a fascinating and frustrating individual, she had come to realize. He was an enigma – able to control dragons and ride them as the Valyrians of old did. He was able to stay calm even in the face of certain death and face down otherworldly enemies without as much as a second thought. If the rumors told to her by Edd and Sansa were correct, he had died – gone beyond the veil of death itself – and been returned to life by one of the red god's priests.

He was a hero of the North – facing down the army of House Bolton and killing large numbers of their soldiers. He was just and fair and harsh when need be. _Is he a threat to me?_ Daenerys could not be certain. All he wanted was the North to be independent – from what she had seen he had no interest what so ever in the Iron Throne.

But worst of all she felt something...else for the King in the North. She _wanted_ him.

_Why should my body do this to me?!_ She cursed herself as a hand slipped under her furs and up her dress, finding her thighs already slick with her wetness. Working her fingers against her womanhood she shoved herself up against the wall, growling as though a wolf.

She thought of him taking her then and there, claiming her from behind, from on top, from underneath – all different sorts of obscene and unholy ways. Her free hand went to her breasts and tweaked a nipple as she continued her fierce assault on her nethers.

She thought of his nude body, his hard and fierce Northern cock as her orgasm hit, her body shaking violently as she bit down hard enough on her lip to draw blood to keep from screaming. She kept working her nub, her body twitching at her own touch. Sweat began to run down her face as she pleasured herself in silence, the smell of sex and heat staining her furs and the sheets of the bed.

_Damn him,_ her mind chided as her second orgasm struck, her mouth only managing to exhale a few whimpering moans as she struggled to control her body's violent reactions. Finally sated, she collapsed back onto the bed exhausted, her hand wet with her own nectar.

_This is all your fault, Jon Snow,_ was the last thought in her mind as she drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ser Jaime treats with House Mallister at Seagard and gets a letter from his dear sister.

The walls of Seagard are high and strong, Jaime observed from the siege camp that he'd assembled just outside it's gates. The ancestral seat of House Mallister was well-provisioned and defended, far so more then the Blackwoods had. There were no makeshift barricades or any other kind of crude improvised defences here. The Mallister troops had simply manned their walls and watched, their bolts aimed down at the Lannister forces should they try anything.

Of course Jaime did not intend to try and take the castle with a thousand men. The Freys had reported the Mallisters had some fifteen hundred soldiers barricaded inside and a force that size could easily repulse his own. Lord Ryman had offered the assistance of some two thousand Frey men from the Twins but Jaime had refused him; this was not going to benefit their house in the end.

“Those walls're well kept, not like the ones at Raventree.” Bronn drawled as he bit into an apple. “Could be a real shit fest if the lord or whatever his name is doesn't want to give up.”

Lord Patrek Mallister was young and reasonable, a true and just nobleman well liked by his smallfolk. But his father had been slain at Harrhenal by the Mountain and his men, so it was likely that he still held a grudge. _I can't say I blame him_ , Jaime sighed to himself.

“Lord Patrek will yield. He has to see the reasoning behind what I will offer. And besides I commanded Lord Tytos to send word to him of my intentions.” Jaime replied softly. He'd received word from Cersei after word of Raventree's capitulation reached her – and her letter still haunted him:

 

> _Jaime:_
> 
> _Euron has found a way to control dragons. He now has one of the Targaryen girl's as his own. We will rain fire and death upon our enemies. Come back to me, my love. We'll kill my husband to be and take this power for our own._
> 
> _No one will dare harm us. We can become public. Let our love be known to all! You can sit at my side as king-consort. The dragon and the wildfire that we have will keep the Seven Kingdoms in line. You'll see. There's no Faith of the Seven to stop us anymore, I saw to that. We'll burn the Stormlands, the Reach, Dorne – all of it!_
> 
> _I love you I love you I love you_
> 
> _Cersei_

_I don't know who you are anymore._ Jaime wanted desperately to reply to her, to denounce her as an insane fool. But he knew if he were to do that it would be the last message he'd ever send. That letter sat on the table where Bronn and Ser Addam sat, their faces a mixture of pensive and worried.

“If she tells the truth, my lord..” Ser Addam began, wiping his forehead with a gloved hand, “then what can we hope to accomplish against a dragon?”

“The way I see it,” Bronn shrugged his shoulders lazily. “is that you twats in Casterly Rock are allowing this to go on by supporting her. Why not just tell her to go fuck herself and pull your troops?”

“If we do that she'll burn Casterly Rock to the ground. I know that much.” Jaime retorted, slamming his fist on the table. “Cersei has no shame anymore. No sanity. She's...” The words went unspoken in his throat but Jaime knew what he was going to say.

_She was like Aerys near the end._

“Fucking nuts? Tell us something we don't know.” japed Bronn.

“For now we pretend to follow her orders. Once this is done we go to the Twins and...we'll sort it out from there.” he sighed, hanging his head ever so slightly. The armour was weighing him down – and it showed. Jaime felt tired all the time, his headaches increasing with pounding intensity. His stump ached badly at all hours of the day with or without the golden hand.

“And then what, my lord? I do not mean to presume your ideas about our presence there but will the Freys not see that as an insult? That we need to return so soon after leaving?” Ser Addam nodded towards him. “As much as their lot disgust me we are outnumbered at their castle by at least three to one...”

Jaime understood the man's fear. As poorly armed and armored the Freys were they still had a significant advantage over his own in terms of numbers. “We have reason to be there, ser. I informed Edmure Tully that he and his family would go to Casterly Rock after the Riverlands was pacified.”

A silence permeated over the three men as they ate, the only sounds being the quiet munching of foods. Jaime knew that all of his schemes – as calculated and risky they might be – would pay off in the end. All he need to do now was endure the next few weeks – or months as needed. _The Riverlands remains as strong as ever and the lords need not scrape for the Freys. That is more then enough_.

“Well, gentlemen. I need to go and parley with Lord Patrek. Wish me luck.” he bowed his head as he left the tent, heading for his already saddled and ready horse.

* * *

Within moments Jaime was at the gates of Seagard, the heavy portcullis staring back at him, at least a dozen crossbows trained to fell him in a moment's notice. _Just like Raventree,_ he told his anxious mind. Even though it would be seriously bad form to kill a man at a parley – especially one who travels alone to do so – after the Red Wedding he did not hold as much stock to things like customs and guest right.

“I come to treat with your liege lord.” he commanded in his firmest and proud voice. He had to make sure that his confidence was as strong as ever for negotiations; a weak voice would allow an enemy to know of vulnerabilities.

After a few moments of waiting the iron bars began to raise with a loud creaking as they rumbled upwards. An officer garbed in the purple eagle of House Mallister approached his horse and lead him inside the gate. “Lord Patrek awaits you in the main hall. Please follow me.”

As Jaime walked up the path to the main castle of Seagard he took stock of the defenders. There were hundreds of them milling about in camps just outside the structure, all well fed and armed to the teeth. He spied a few catapults being built in among the walls as well. Every man glared daggers at him as they walked by, just like at Raventree. Some things would never change no matter what he did – and his reputation as a kingslayer and oath-breaker was one of them.

* * *

He found Ser Patrek inside Seagard's main hall, which was opulently decorated with rugs and draperies of purple and blue. Patrek Mallister had his back to Jaime, arms folded behind him as he stared out the window over the waters. Within moments of being ushered into the hall the officer was gone and Jaime was alone with the lord.

“Ser Jaime,” he began, his voice proud and firm. “I welcome you to Seagard, though I am sorry it is not under more friendly circumstances.” Turning about he took a seat in his lord's chair and folded his hands on the table.

Jaime studied the lord carefully. He was young, with blonde hair and a growing beard of the same colour. The man almost reminded him of a Lannister as a result – _a bitter irony in these parts_ , he mused. “Lord Patrek. I am glad you have agreed to treat with me.”

“Care for a drink? I am sure you and your army must be exhausted marching all the way from Raventree.” he offered, gesturing to a nearby servant who had entered with a jug of wine. The man's voice betrayed almost no emotion but friendly politeness – and Jaime was wondering what he was up to.

“No, thank you. As you know, my lord I am here to hopefully convince you to give up this rebellion. With Raventree and Riverrun having done the same it leaves only House Mallister that is in revolt against House Frey.” Jaime took a seat opposite the lord's chair, keeping his gaze fixated on the man's brown eyes.

“Yes, Lord Blackwood sent word of your arrival to me.” Patrek paused as he seemed to be searching for words, “I am surprised that you were able to convince a man like Tytos Blackwood to surrender as he did.”

“I merely convinced him that giving up his revolt would benefit him and his people, nothing more. I am not here to make you yield to House Frey, that is not my intention.”

“Yes, I am well aware of that.” Lord Patrek took a gulp of wine, “and I can assure you that we will not yield to the Freys, no matter what they offer us. We do not recognize their authority over the Riverlands, not while Edmure Tully yet lives.”

“You know that Lord Edmure gave up Riverrun in good faith. His uncle, the Blackfish..” Jaime could not speak of the man without feeling a twinge of guilt – he'd sworn to protect Catelyn Stark's daughters and instead was killing off the rest of her family.

“Ser Brynden was a good man and did not deserve a fate as inglorious as what he got.” Lord Patrek retorted, “then again, neither did my father Lord Jason. You understand he was slain at Harrenhal when your father's forces held it?”

“I do. I will not make excuses for The Mountain – but needless to say he does not reflect my offer here. You and your men will not be massacred. There is no hidden ambush waiting for you should you accept,”

Jaime exhaled softly, tapping his fingers on the table, “but I can offer you the same terms that I offered Lord Tytos. Accept Frey control of the Riverlands and stand down your arms. I will tell the Iron Throne that you have yielded – but you do not need to do anything of the sort. You will not have to answer to or kneel to Frey lords.”

“I am curious, Ser...why go against your own sister, given that she sits the Iron Throne.” Lord Patrek's brows furrowed slightly. “Should you not wish to enforce Lannister control over King's Landing?”

“No.” Jaime grumbled, his tone irritated and stern. “My sister seized the throne without due cause and rules through fear. I will be honest, my lord – she is becoming a female version of Aerys. That is the measure of her madness.”

That caused the young lord's eyes to widen slightly before he was able to regain his composure. “Intriguing. Perhaps my father and his men were wrong about you, Ser. They say you are nothing more then a man without honour.”

“I've heard the same thing from better men all over the Seven Kingdoms,” Jaime shrugged as a headache began to creep back into his thoughts. “I am trying to right some of the wrongs that my family has perpetuated against the world. To save House Lannister from itself.”

Rising from his seat Ser Patrek returned to his gaze of the water. “My men tell me that we can hold against a siege for two years. But what happens to my lands and people in that time? They die, just as so many have already. I cannot deny...it does anger me somewhat to treat with the same men who helped kill my father and so many of our family's soldiers. But at the same time I cannot deny you seem far more reasonable then Tywin Lannister ever was.”

“I am not my father, Lord Patrek. You can rest assured of that.”

“I am not belligerent or defiant as Tytos Blackwood. I rose up only because I did not wish to subject my people to the depravities of House Frey. But if I have your word that they will not?” Lord Patrek's voice was hopeful.

“I have two thousand Lannister soldiers garrisoned at Riverrun with orders to strike against the Freys should they attempt to occupy any other castles besides their own.”

“Very well.” the young man nodded, biting down gently upon his lip. “I accept your terms, Ser. I will inform my men to stand down.”

“Thank you, Lord Patrek. You've made the right decision, I am sure of it.” Jaime smiled, rising to his feet and offering a hand, which Patrek took. They shook firmly in understanding and acceptance of their shared situation.

As he departed Seagard Jaime's thoughts turned to his final task in this place. _Off to the Twins..._

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and The Hound talk in the Godswood and get some surprise visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I portrayed Sandor in a good regard. I took his personality from the show and books as best I could - of how he was kind to Sansa and what have you, to the point that he was about the only one who was. Again, thank you for your continued love and support. <33

Sansa did not pray anymore, having long ago discarded such beliefs as a part of her naive childhood. She had spent most of her time in King's Landing praying, to the old gods and the Seven alike for various things – salvation for herself, victory for Robb, the safety of her family. But her prayers were never answered. Yet the godswood in Winterfell gave her a sense of peace that she never could get anywhere else.

It also reminded her of Jon. She could picture the night they were wed, in secret under the heart tree. She smiled blissfully as her mind flashed back to that moment – something that was as close to perfection that Sansa's heart would allow her to get. Of course no one else knew of their marriage – to the rest of the North they were still half-brother and half-sister, but to the surviving siblings of the Stark family they were truly cousins.

They resolved to reveal the secret of Jon's parentage when he returned from the Wall. Of course many of the northern lords would not want to be ruled by someone with Targaryen blood in their veins – it was the way of their culture. But Sansa would reveal that as Eddard Stark's eldest surviving child she would wed Jon – binding ice and fire.

“Sansa,” came the voice of one of her guards – the Free Folk never called her “Lady” Sansa but just Sansa – and it suited her just fine. “That big ugly fucker who came with those other ugly fuckers is here to see you.”

* * *

Sansa snorted as she tried to suppress a laugh. Obviously the man was referring to the Hound. “Send him in.” she commanded, still giggling as Sandor Clegane sauntered into her sight.

He was wearing a leather overcoat and a set of fur pants and boots with a large set of furs draped over his shoulders. Yet he was still the same in terms of appearance to the man she knew long ago in King's Landing.

“Hello, little bird.” he nodded his head, walking over to where she sat. “Can't imagine you're happy to see me again, are you?” he chorted.

“Actually, I am.” Sansa looked up towards him, smiling ever so slightly, “so you can see that I've left behind that foolish 'little bird' I once was.”

“Aye, I can tell. Been hearing about how you rule from the rest of the twats around here,” Clegane plopped himself down on one of the rocks near her, “and I gotta say, I'm impressed.”

Sansa shrugged, her smile fading slightly. She had realized that the girl of the past – the one who believed in knights and songs and fairy tales – was dead and gone. Part of her was saddened by this; life was far simpler for her then. But she had endured horrors beyond that of most men.

“The last few years have made me stronger, ser.” she stated firmly, “I've realized things like knights and songs...they have no real meaning to the real world.”

That got a smirk from Clegane. “Aye, I'm glad you realized that sooner rather then later. Though I've heard you went through some real shit after you left King's Landing.”

Sansa told him about her stay in the Eyrie and her subsequent marriage to Ramsay Bolton. She talked at length about the beatings and rapes and torture the man had inflicted upon her. It brought a sense of hot rage to her eyes but she pushed on – _this man was kind to me once_ , she reflected. _He deserves the truth._

“...so you can see that I had to grow up, fast.” she finished her tale, rubbing her hands together.

Sandor's face contorted with a mixture of fury and sadness. “No one deserves to meet a monster like that Bolton cunt. I wish he were still alive so I could kill him for ya, little bird.” he reached over and patted her shoulder, his large hand almost enveloping it whole. “But I'm glad you're still around. Always knew you'd go far.”

“I also have to deal with Lord Baelish and his...machinations.”

Sandor snorted, spitting into the ground. “Baelish. He's another one – a fucking worm if there ever was any.” He wrapped his furs tighter around his body, sighing audibly. “Bloody fucking cold. Though I have to say I'm glad to be out of that shit pile of a city.”

“You never were one for the Northern climates, ser.” Sansa laughed softly, her face falling. “Baelish. He...I know what kind of man he is. He wants me. That much has always been clear – he sees me as sort of a twisted substitute for my mother.”

Sandor coughed, rolling his shoulders as he stared up at the sky. “Just take his fucking head off and be done with it. I'd be glad to give it to ya.” he grinned.

“I know you would,” Sansa would have loved to given Sandor the instruction to kill Petyr and be done with it. But until she could find a way to expose him for what he was – a traitor, a killer and a liar – he had to remain alive to ensure the loyalty of the Vale. “but I need the Vale's allegiance, and Baelish controls Lord Arryn like a puppet.”

“So tell me about this bastard brother of yours. Jon Snow, was it? He's clearly done well for himself.”

Her heart fluttered and her palms grew warm at the mention of Jon. “He is...well, he is a true son of our father. Bastard or not, he was the one who retook Winterfell from the Boltons. He brought me...us home.”

“Well, good for him. And you, yeah?” Sandor belched loudly.

“So, I understand you're going north to fight against the Others?” Sansa finally had worked up the courage to ask.

“Aye, I am. We all know those fuckers are a big threat – especially Dondarrion, the asshole who won't die. So, I figure I should do some good with my life rather then killing people. Kill people who are already fucking dead!”

* * *

“YOU!”

Arya came barreling into the godswood, running past the Free Folk guards. She stood before The Hound and Sansa, glaring angrily at him. “How are you still alive? I left you there to die! You were...begging me!”

That got a laugh from Sandor. “Well hello to you too, she-wolf! I was just regaling your sister with tales of my exploits. I hadn't gotten to the part where you did that!”

“Arya...what's going on?” Sansa stood up, confused. She peered to both her sister and Sandor curiously.

Arya told Sansa about how the Hound had captured her and taken her this way and that, trying to ransom her to Robb and their mother at The Twins the night of the Red Wedding before heading to the Eyrie to Lysa Arryn only to find that she was dead.

She told her about Brienne of Tarth and how she'd nearly killed the Hound in battle.

“...and so I left him there.” she finished, gritting her teeth and breathing heavily. “I didn't expect him to be alive!”

* * *

“Nor I.” came another voice from the clearing. Brienne of Tarth marched in, pushing her way past the guards – once again, to their visible annoyance.

The Hound sighed dramatically. “Oh for fuck's sake. Come to finish what you started?” he snapped towards her.

“I bear you no ill will, Ser. I am here as Lady Sansa's sworn shield. Nothing more.” she glared, stepping to Sansa's side.

“Oh, la de dah! Sworn shield, knight...whatever the fuck you are, woman. I don't care, do you hear me?“ Sandor grumbled, spitting into the near-frozen pond. “I'm not here to fight or kill anyone here, do you hear me? I'm going North to fight them Other people or whatever the fucking King in the North calls 'em.”

Brienne nodded, keeping a hand on her sword. “If you say so. I am still honor bound to protect my lady from any possible dangers – of which you are one.”

Sansa raised a hand towards Brienne. “It's alright, Brienne. I know the Hound from King's Landing. He was...he was the only one there most times who was kind to me aside from Tyrion.”

Arya grumbled to herself and kicked at the snow. “He...yeah, fine. He kept me safe too. I can't say you didn't, but I still don't like you. Do you hear me?” she pointed at him, glaring. “Don't give me that smirk!”

Sandor continued to laugh. “You Stark girls, all fiery and angry. I love it! Could teach the sad shits I'm travelling with a thing or two.” With a sigh he rose to his feet, looking to Brienne. “I'll admit, you beat me fair and square that day. I can respect that.” As he began to walk away towards the entrance to the castle, Sansa ran forward and grabbed at his furs.

“Wait, Sandor!” she shouted, causing him to turn back around and face her. “I know you were there. The day my father was arrested and betrayed by Baelish. yes?”

His face grew dark and he frowned. “Course I was. I had to protect His Royal Cuntness Joffrey. Your dad had balls though – I'll give him that. Might have pulled it off if Baelish hadn't have double crossed him.”

“Pulled off what?”

“Well, he wanted to take control, obviously. Going on about “royal apartments” and “no claim on the throne”. Obviously he wanted the top spot – can't say I blame him!” Sandor shrugged, “At this point I think a rotten turnip would be a better ruler then that cunt family.”

Sansa managed to keep her composure as she sighed, shaking her head. “He didn't want power. He had found the truth out about Joffrey and his family and was going to see Stannis crowned the rightful king.”

“Truth? You mean that incest thing? Bah, biggest non fucking secret in the Seven Kingdoms by that point.” he chuckled. “As for Stannis, where's he now? Oh yeah, dead like the rest of those twats.”

Sansa could not help but agree with him on that point. Her father had been brave – but appallingly foolish. He had relied on northern honour to last in the South. And Sansa knew all too well that it was the first and last mistake Eddard Stark made.

“Thank you. If you want, go to the hall. They're serving roast chicken.” she smiled faintly, staring towards the ground.

“Finally, some good fucking food!” Sandor's voice faded as he tromped away.

“Sansa?” Arya had appeared at her side. “You alright?”

“Fine. He was there, Arya...he was there...” she repeated, doing her best to keep her lip from trembling. She couldn't cry – not now. _I am Sansa Stark and this is my home,_ she repeated in her head.

“We'll get Baelish some other way, Sansa. Trust me.” Arya smiled, patting her on the arm. “Come on, let's get some food. I'm famished!”

As Arya left the area Sansa was left with Brienne – her mind lingering on the last thoughts of her father before he lost his life. _Did you think of me, Father? Of my foolish dreams? Or did you think of dear Petyr and his betrayal?_

_Well, I promise you one thing – I will do whatever is needed to avenge you._

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle for the Wall begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the delay in posting this! This was perhaps the longest and hardest chapter for me to write given as horrible I am with battle scenes, at least in my mind. I hope you guys enjoy this though as it concludes Part Two - don't worry! Part three will be coming soon after. I swear, I won't give up on the fic as long as I have lovely readers like yourselves who are so interested in my work. I want to thank you all so much for your constant support. <3

The morning air was cool and harsh just as it always was at the Wall – but the white mist made the cold even more pronounced. Even from his chambers as he readied for the battle Jon felt the creeping and biting chill flowing into his bones. Exhaling softly he nodded, strapping Longclaw to his side. He garbed himself in his Stark fighting outfit – blue and black, with his overcoat worn tightly around himself.

As he walked out into Castle Black's courtyard he was greeted by Edd and Lord Royce, both looking grim and hopeful at the same time. His old friend and comrade – and current Lord Commander – smiled at his approach. “You ready?” he patted his shoulder softly.

“Always.” Jon allowed himself a tired smirk. All around them the Vale troops – aided by some black brothers – prepared themselves for the battle. Some carried large bundles of arrows and piles of weapons. Others carried large bows and barrels of pitch. The dawning realization began to creep up into his mind – that the battle was going to be joined upon them. The true fate of Westeros hung in the balance.

“We will do our part, Your Grace.” Lord Royce assured him, nodding firmly. “The Wall will hold until you are ready for your assault. The Others will be beaten back into the Land of Always Winter from where they came!”

The plan was simple; Jon would take Rhaegal to Rimegate to the east and beat back the wights there. Daenerys would take Drogon to Greyguard and do the same. This would likely make the Others begin their assault on Castle Black – so the two would meet in the skies above Edd and Lord Royce and rain fire down upon their hordes. With any luck they would be able to draw out the Night King by inflicting such heavy losses upon it – and Jon would take the field to strike it down if need be.

Daenerys herself strolled up to them, bundled tightly in her own furs. “Are you ready, King Snow?” she nodded towards him, shivering ever the while. _The Targaryens weren't used to this weather,_ his mind snickered.

“Just as I told the men here, I always am ready, Your Grace.” he grinned. “Drogon?”

“Eager just as he always has been. Now, remember – Rhaegal is the smaller of the two so it may take you longer to beat back the forces at Rimegate. Once I am finished with Greyguard's defence I will come to your aid should you require it. If not, we'll meet over the skies here.”

From the far end of the yard Drogon and Rhaegal roared idly, butting heads against one another – with Drogon being the larger of the two having the upper hand. Daenerys had assured Jon that it was just playful behaviour on their part – they were siblings, after all. “Then good luck to you, Your Grace. And to us all.”

“Jon?” Daenerys whispered to him as they walked towards their dragons. He stopped and looked at her.

“Did you need so-” he began, but was interrupted as she launched herself forward and kissed him, pressing her body up against his own. _She smells of vanilla_ , Jon's confused mind noted.

Before he could do anything further she broke away, strolling towards Drogon. “For luck.” she smiled over her shoulder.

Jon gawked for a few moments, a fierce heat building up in his face. That had taken him completely by surprise – and he was hardly able to process what had just happened. He knew Daenerys had kissed him, that much was plain. Did he send out signals that he was interested in her? Was there something he was not seeing? Jon's mind swam with questions – and guilt. He thought of his wife back at Winterfell, the pair trapped in perpetual agony until he returned as they were unable to announce both his parentage and marriage before that time.

_I can't dwell on this now_ , he exhaled and approached Rhaegal, Drogon having already taken off with a great roar and gust of speed. The green dragon laid his head on the ground as Jon approached, clambering onto his body.

Grasping his scales tightly Jon took a few deep breaths as he rose into the air. “To the east!” he shouted over the wind as Rhaegal took off towards Rimegate.

* * *

“DRACARYS!” Daenerys shouted as Drogon let out a continuous gout of flame towards the snow as hundreds of wights were caught in the blast and incinerated, their screeching pseudo-agony filling the air. As she looked down to the ground she saw the remaining horde – thousands of charging abominations – were rushing Greyguard, as its Vale and Nights Watch defenders peppered their ranks with flaming arrows.

She could only fly Drogon so close to the Wall without hurting either him or the structure so any wights that managed to get through were left to be taken down by the constant volleys. Drogon soared through the air, his large wing dipping the ground and smashing into the undead ranks, the sheer speed and force of the wing being enough to slice through their rotting skin and bones, severing a great deal of them in two.

As she regained control of him, her mind went away from the battlefield – the whooshing of arrows, the roars of the dead and the screaming of orders and commands – and to Jon Snow again, much to her consternation. She felt like a fool – having impulsively kissed him before her departure against her own wishes. _What did I do? Why?_ Her mind chastised the decision she'd made, trying to make her feel guilty.

She could not get the taste of him out of her lips, no matter how much she tried to think of something else. His face swam in her mind – and her rash stupidity had only made the images intensify. Her body felt a sense of relief at her actions, however – her tense muscles and tightened joints releasing their tension as though she'd soaked in a hot bath.

Drogon came back around for another pass, his dragon-fire incinerating the next endless wave of wights as he soared over the field, the attackers disappearing into the red glow. Surveying the battlefield she saw that Greyguard's defenders were holding their own against the ones that managed to make it through the gauntlet – but still more poured in from the forests, roaring and screeching all the while.

“DRACARYS!” she shouted, bringing Drogon to line up with the treeline. He belched out yet more flame towards the trees – and the wights – utterly incinerating any of both caught in the flames. She turned him to the left and he swept his neck in an arc from right to left, the heat of the fire melting the snow all the way to the bare earth beneath.

As she brought Drogon around for another pass she took stock of the remaining horde, the numbers now going from a flood to a trickle as they stumbled from the now burning woods towards the Wall. She saw the defenders drop barrels of flaming pitch onto the ones that made it to the base, the wood erupting in a cascade explosion as it hit the ground, burning up the unfortunates as they came.

_This is too easy_ , she questioned as Drogon began to incinerate the remaining wights. _They're already withdrawing from here? Have we inflicted so much to their ranks already?_ She had been scanning the ground for any sign of the Others – normal fire had no effect on them and no one had tested dragon fire yet – but so far it was merely wights of varying species; mostly humans but a few wolves and bears she thought were incinerated by Drogon's flames.

As she completed her pass Daenerys saw that the few remaining wights were running back into the forest – _they're withdrawing!_ She gave Drogon a gentle pat on his neck and began to head for Rimegate.

_He likely needs my help_ , she thought as the wind whipped through her hair.

* * *

Jon gripped onto Rhaegal as hard as he could, the heat from his flames making the skin on his hands feel as though it was going to melt. None the less he watched as the fire engulfed large groups of attacking wights as the dragon made a pass over the field. He'd been gripping for dear life as Rhaegal approached Rimegate – and when he'd given him the command to attack the dragon had flown so fast over the Wall Jon was almost blown off his back.

Looking at the field below Jon saw the results of his work so far; large scorch marks littered the ground as the screeching of wights permeated the air. He saw specs of flame moving rapidly around, the specs sometimes growing and becoming larger dots while other times they slowly faded to nothing. The sheer numbers of the attackers was still overwhelming despite two full passes – Rhaegal simply could not cover the ground that Drogon could.

None the less Jon was committed to seeing this through – not only as King in the North but as the one who was riding the beast. “Dracarys!” he shouted as Rhaegal banked sharply to the left, unleashing his fire on another group of wights emerging from the forest valley.

As Jon was doing little but observing and shouting commands his mind was free to wander, and despite his best efforts he could not get the image of Daenerys and her kiss out of his mind. Jon still could not understand why she had done it – what had she seen in him? Was it an innocent gesture “for luck” as she had said? But Jon was no fool – he knew women didn't kiss a man on the lips for luck unless it was a wife seeing a husband off to war – so there had to be more involved than he could imagine.

_I hope I haven't somehow caused this,_ his mind swam with guilt as he tried to piece together anything he may have said. He was a married man, faithful to his wife. He would not abandon Sansa – the woman he had sworn a vow eternal to – for an exotic queen no matter how alluring the woman made herself to be.

There was no denying that Daenerys was an attractive woman – she certainly was, but Jon was not drawn to her in any sort of way, sexual or otherwise.

As Rhaegal finished another pass Jon noted the numbers of the horde seemed to be thinning – _the Night King is going to be focused on Castle Black_ , he knew instantly. Yet he could not leave Rimegate until he'd taken care of as many of the wights as he could – Jon knew some would get through but the Vale soldiers at the castle had picked off many of the stragglers as they shambled to the Wall's base.

“Another pass should do it!” he shouted down at Rhaegal, the dragon dropping low to the ground and spewing a line of flame across the already scorched earth. That took care of a large chunk of the new attackers spewing from the valley, and Jon saw that no new ones were following.

He heard the faint cheer from the Vale soldiers on the Wall and he looked over to see them applauding and chanting his name. He knew that he had no time to bask in their glory – he had to make for Castle Black and fast.

“Back west. Go!” he commanded as Rhaegal banked left and began flying towards the main battlefield.

* * *

“Nock! Draw! LOOSE!” Edd shouted from his place atop the Wall as hundreds – if not thousands – of flaming arrows crashed into the undead ranks as they surged forward, the faint screeches of wights filling the skies.

The sheer number of attackers was overwhelming, even more so then they had been before the attack had begun. The numbers of dead had swollen after Jon and Daenerys had flown off – and Edd knew that the Night King was simply sending everything it had towards them here.

_Of course he would_ , Edd thought ruefully. _Gotta make me carry the fate of the world, right?_

The sounds around him reminded Edd of the battle against Mance Rayder's army – something that seemed to have happened a lifetime ago. Jon was still a brother, as was Grenn, Pyp and the others they had taken their oaths with. Simpler times for simpler folk. Vale officers including Lord Royce shouted commands to the archers – nock, draw, loose – while Edd had ordered the builders and the Vale siege experts to man the catapults. Flaming balls of pitch soared through the air and smashed into the Other ranks, sending huge gouts of fire every which way. Yet no matter how many barrels or pitch balls were thrown into the horde their numbers seemed endless.

Yet he promised Jon that they would hold, and Castle Black had never fallen to an enemy force before – and it wasn't going to fall on Edd's watch. As another volley of arrows filled the air he rushed along the battlements towards Lord Royce. The man was overseeing one of the catapults as it was loaded with more barrels of pitch.

“We're not putting a dent in 'em!” he shouted to the man, who glared stone faced towards him.

“We said we would hold, Lord Commander!” he grumbled, waving his arm as the projectile was launched with a crackling thud. “And we will hold until the dragons can help us!”

Edd sighed, turning to observe the onslaught. Just as they were before the Others were at the far back of their host, just before the tree line. He could tell by the intense, almost blistering white blizzard that was present. Using his spyglass he watched as they simply stood there, observing. _What are you waiting for?! Just kill us all and be done with it!_

Edd watched as several more of the large ice spiders rushed through the throngs, headed straight for the Wall. The archers had killed a few of the beasts already – they were the most dangerous of the beasts the Others commanded, as they could climb the Wall somehow – but their numbers were still unceasing. “Aim for the spiders!” Edd shouted as the various bowmen adjusted their shots accordingly.

“Come on Jon – any time you want to show up would be great!” Edd mumbled as he stared out over the foggy horizon, obscured by the unceasing mist – which despite lessening since the attack began was still an obstruction. _I said I wouldn't knock the fucking thing down. I didn't promise anything about HOLDING the thing up._

* * *

No one was able to comprehend the thoughts of the Others. They were simply different from the men they called their enemies – and the wights they called their servants. The Night King was a grade above that, with its command of the rest of its kind being absolute. Its icy blue eyes glared up towards the Wall where the armies of men sent wave after wave of fire arrows towards the endless tide that it sent towards them.

Beside it the rest of its kind watched and stared just as its King did. It was the first – having been created in a time long forgotten to the race of men – and thus it was obeyed without question from the otherworldly minds that they possessed. It knew of the two dragons that had begun incinerating its armies to the east and west but it was not threatened.

It knew that the fires of any kind could not harm it or its kind. The wights? Yes. But they were disposable creatures. Servants of a greater kind. Even the beasts above could not harm it or its fellows. Yet the boy, the one who the men called “Jon Snow” was an enigma. An oddity among men.

Whereas men were simple and fickle creatures, war like and destructive, greedy and lustful – this one was different. It could harm it – and had killed one of it's kind before at the settlement of Hardhome. The Night King had watched its servant die, exploding into shards of solid ice before the Jon Snow's blade.

For a man, it was a fascinating one. The Night King secretly hoped to face it in combat – to test its true resolve as it had tested the resolve of the young Brandon Stark. It had marked him after the boy foolishly wandered into its domain. Its creators had empowered it to see beyond sight itself – what its creators and men called 'green sight'. The boy had escaped – just as it had deigned. And now it was over the Wall, the only structure that had kept it out since the first purge.

Its creators were gone, the last of them having been slaughtered in that cave by it and its fellows. They had befouled their own directives and thus had to be removed. It felt no pity or remorse for doing what it had been created for. “Preserve the land” was its mission.

It had attempted to do so before – the first purge, which had almost eradicated the disease called men. The world had been covered in snow and ice, preserving the land from the greedy and destructive ways of the new race. But it had been defeated after the men had joined with its creators to fight against it – as the Night King had realized the creators too were defilers and destroyers.

Once the Wall had fallen as it would inevitably the Others would be free to continue their mission across the world as it had begun an uncounted time ago. It was time to complete its mission. Turning its head it nodded to figures unseen behind the trees. The Horn of Winter would put an end to this battle – and not a moment too soon.

_Every moment that it waited was another moment the disease called men destroyed._

* * *

Drogon roared mightily as he dropped from the clouds, unleashing his flames upon the sea of undead swarming Castle Black. They were incinerated by the hundreds if not thousands as he pushed forward, his flames spreading across the ground like an inferno. The glow from the fire lit up the sky, making things visible despite the white mist. A cheer went up as the defenders began loosening more waves of fire arrows towards the ranks.

Another more deafening cheer went up as Rhaegal dropped down from the sky to the east, his flames travelling along the ground in a smaller, but just as deadly arc. The two brothers roared at one another as they flew side by side, with Drogon nudging Rhaegal's body gently, Jon clinging on for dear life.

“We seem to be pushing them back!” Daenerys shouted over the chaos. Jon appeared slightly rattled – likely the first time he had taken a dragon into battle – but was otherwise unharmed. He gazed over at her and smiled sheepishly.

“They're focusing here! We need to hit them with the combined flame if we have any hope of success!” he shouted, focusing his sight down to the approaching horde. “NOW! Dracarys!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Daenerys did the same as both dragons side by side let loose with their powerful gouts of flame. The wights kept coming as some of them literally stumbled over themselves to get to the Wall. “Let's go! Forward!” Jon shouted as Rhaegal began to move, carrying his flame up.

Together Drogon and Rhaegal advanced towards the ranks of the Others, who were still watching impassively. The sea of dead continued to advance without any regard for the dangers, being incinerated as they were pushed back towards the border of the Haunted Forest – which was now partially aflame.

“Your Grace!” Daenerys heard Jon's shout. “Hold them here! I'll strike at the Others directly!” Jon urged Rhaegal into a sharp right turn, unleashing his flame breath against the back ranks of the undead creatures, including the large ice spiders as he went.

Rhaegal advanced faster toward the lines of Others as Jon felt his heart constrict with cold as he dived in. As he got closer his skin began to spike with freezing pain, a thin layer of frost washing over his over-cloak.

“DRACARYS!” he croaked as the dragon made a pass over them, flame advancing rapidly towards the ranks – only to watch as the fire dissolved around them, their cold eyes staring up towards him in an ominous fashion.

Jon felt as though he were choking. The ice was beginning to crystallize on his clothes as he strained his movement. His body screamed with agony as he struggled to move his arms, trying to shout with pain but finding his voice too hoarse to even expel sound. Rhaegal started to screech as well, his wings icing over with frost. Jon knew that dragon-fire would do nothing against the Others now – he had seen it up close.

* * *

There was only one way he could stop the invasion. One way that would potentially save Westeros from a second Long Night. He urged Rhaegal down until he was just about to touch down on the ground in front of the Others – and leaped from his back, crashing into the snow with a rolling thud. As he hit the ground in front of them Jon spied a large horn being moved into the ranks, pulled by two Others. The horn was at minimum six feet long and at least half that in height, and was covered in glowing runes of the First Men that he could see as he rushed forward, Longclaw held high.

_The Horn of Winter,_ he realized as his heart felt ready to burst. His body was so cold, so very frozen – but his mind urged him onward. He had to finish this. Especially now knowing the Others held the legendary item – something that could bring the Wall crashing down with a single blast, so the legends said.

The Night King stared ominously at Jon as he approached, with the rows of Others simply ignoring him as he weaved his way through towards the Horn. In the back of his mind he could faintly hear the roaring of Drogon and Rhaegal as they continued, presumably to hold against the wights.

As he came face to face with the Night King Jon felt as though he entered the eye of a great storm. The agonizing cold his body was being subjected to had ceased and the air was deathly still. As he exhaled he could see his breath cascading out in front of him.

His opponent's mouth crept upwards as if it was smiling. “Let's end this. You and I!” Jon wheezed, bringing Longclaw up in front of him. Before he could react further Jon felt a blast of agonizing cold lift him off his feet, propelling him backwards into one of the trees behind them.

He screamed with agony as his back took the brunt of his impact against the heavy oak. Blood trickled from his mouth as he fumbled in the snow for his sword, the blade having flown over by the Horn. As he struggled to his feet he saw the Others did not even move to face him – only the Night King even took notice.

The Other approached the Horn, the smirk still present on its face. At it reached the mouthpiece it idly kicked Longclaw towards Jon, the blade clanging next to his foot. As Jon watched – unable to move or breathe or react – it placed its mouth to the horn and blew.

* * *

The Horn's sound was a resounding echo, almost as though a collective moan rushing forth from the earth.

Edd heard the ominous sound from the Wall, his eyes narrowing in confusion. No one had seen or made any mention of a horn – especially one being carried by the Others. Lord Royce looked towards him with the same confusion plastered on his face.

It was then that the base of the Wall began to crack, just above the tunnel leading to Castle Black. The crack spread upwards at a rapid speed, the sound growing even louder as it went. As it reached the battlements where the defenders stood it stopped, the sound ceasing almost as abruptly as it began.

* * *

The Night King turned its back towards Jon and pressed a finger to the ground, sending a massive quake rumbling towards the Wall, the tremor sending wights and animals alike flying this way and that as it rushed towards the collapsed tunnel.

Jon watched with resounding horror as the quake struck the Wall – the entirety of the structure around the Tunnel exploding with a horrific crunching sound. Massive shards of ice and timber and men were launched high into the air, the deafening screams of dying defenders becoming almost overwhelming to mortal ears.

The Night King turned back towards Jon and nodded as the sea of wights returned, crashing through the trees and running for the breached section. Massive spiders of ice trampled their way beside rotting bears and wolves while the horde began stuffing its way through the remains of the exploded section. None of the army touched Jon – they ignored him as they rushed past.

The Others then began to march forward, heading towards the breach with astonishing speed. The Night King took one final look at Jon and began to follow its kin forward.

The last thoughts in Jon's mind as the world went black and he fell into unconsciousness was of Sansa. Of Bran, of Arya – of the North. They had trusted him and he had failed. Now, nothing could stop what was to begin.

_The Long Night had truly come._

 

 

 

 


End file.
